


and the things that do

by mismatched (miscalculated)



Series: the things that [2]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Ambiguous Relationships, Anal Fingering, Bisexuality, Blow Jobs, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Infidelity, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Misogyny, an ableist joke, other little couples i wont be mentioning lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:28:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 79,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24048979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miscalculated/pseuds/mismatched
Summary: Jihoon’s almost one hundred percent sure that Mingyu is going to kiss him. He won’t stop staring at his mouth, a shadow of a smile on his own, the pad of his thumb caressing Jihoon’s bottom lip. Fuck, Jihoon’s thinking through the haze of alcohol and longing, they’re gonna fuck everything up again. Why do they keep going to parties together when it’s clear this is their trigger to do stupid shit? Why do they keep isolating themselves during said parties, creating perfect opportunities to fuck everything up?What ever happened to starting over?-Mingyu and Jihoon are best friends and Jihoon tells himself that he doesn't want that to change. But unfortunately, the things that he claimed Don't Matter, do.
Relationships: Kim Mingyu/Lee Jihoon | Woozi
Series: the things that [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1707742
Comments: 57
Kudos: 295





	1. one of them

**Author's Note:**

> howdy!
> 
>  **if youre just coming across this, i highly, highly suggest reading the[first part](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23711398) to this series to understand what's happening in this one**. promise(?) it's worth it. also, please please read the tags of the first part (and this one) so that you can make an informed decision as the whether you want to read this or not. it's important. 
> 
> as i said for the first part - this fic was born purely for self-gratification. it is not meant to be the barometer of morality. no lessons to be taught here, folks. except to not be like this, i guess?
> 
> thanks for reading, and your feedback means a lot to me.

There were, like, two years of learning one another before their third year of high school came, and with it came proximity. Sharing the same homeroom meant seeing one another’s faces more often, whether they liked it or not. Which, liking ‘it’ was never the issue, because Jihoon felt comfortable with Mingyu long before their final year rolled through. Even back then, Jihoon remembers Kim Mingyu being the tall, lanky dude that the girls in every grade swooned over; sure, Mingyu wasn’t nearly as fit, tall, or chiseled as he is now — but who is in their teens? The point is that Mingyu was already handsome, despite his jaw not being as cut or his shoulders as broad, and he knew it because the girls never let him forget it.

And Mingyu cycled through girlfriends more often than Jihoon changed clothes. Okay — a little hyperbolic, but Jihoon has always been a bit of a historical revisionist, and his historical revisionist brain remembers Mingyu having, like, a million girlfriends before third year. Then, when third year came around, Mingyu seemed to learn himself, or learned how to play the game smarter — whatever — and stopped dating girls, but kept up the antics.

This is where things changed, but Jihoon can’t pinpoint exactly where or _how_. He just remembers the summer break before they started school again, when Mingyu would come over and they’d sit in Jihoon’s childhood bedroom and watch Marvel movies and anime and eat the snacks his mom would make for them. It could’ve been before or after this — again, the details are hazy and Jihoon honestly doesn’t like fretting over the past any more than he already does — but, regardless, one day Mingyu was like, _can we watch the dubbed version of something-something anime ‘cause I don’t wanna read anymore_ , and Jihoon was like, _no dude that ruins the immersion_ , and then they were wrestling over the TV remote, and then they were just wrestling because teen boys and testosterone and stuff — and then.

Then, they just… didn’t stop. It was as if this invisible barrier between the two of them was broken, now that they realized physical contact was, like, okay? And while both of them were getting comfortable with touching and holding girls, they never really held another guy more than rough-housing or what was necessary. Jihoon wasn’t big on physical forms of affection (still kinda isn’t), but Mingyu became that exception; they’d drape arms over shoulders, Mingyu would come up behind him and pull him in by his waist, Jihoon would grab or lean onto him when he was laughing so hard tears burned his eyes. And sleepovers meant Mingyu and Jihoon would share the bed, cram themselves together on the tiny twin mattress made for one, make it work for two.

A whole lot of that.

It wasn’t until they applied and matriculated into the same university that they kissed for the first time. For a bet, sure, but it happened again that same night, surely wasn’t a bet then. And now they’ve kissed so many times Jihoon can’t count them all even if he wanted to (and he doesn’t, he really fucking doesn’t). The nights spent at Mingyu’s apartment watching anime, when Mingyu would sneakily try to put the Korean dub on and Jihoon would snatch the remote back and call him an idiot and Mingyu would lean close close close to his face and go, _says the friend of an idiot_ , and then Jihoon would laugh because it’s such a stupid comeback, oh, ha-ha, typical Mingyu and Mingyu would laugh too, all sharp canines and crinkly eyes, and Mingyu would kiss Jihoon’s smiling lips and then it didn’t even matter if the anime was dubbed or subbed because they weren’t paying attention anymore and Mingyu’s hand would be down his sweatpants and Jihoon’s down Mingyu’s jeans and Jihoon would think —

“Mingyu didn’t come with you?” Jihoon’s mom asks.

He’s back home, in Busan, taking his long-awaited break from the madness back at university to return to a sense of normalcy. Whatever left of it that remains in a cesspool of memories about his childhood and high school. They’re in the living room, relaxing on the couch and watching some drama his mom is currently into.

“Nah,” Jihoon says to the TV screen. “He’s in Seoul visiting his girlfriend.” And the only reason he knows that is because of Mingyu’s heavy presence on Instagram and the group chat. They haven’t really spoken to one another after the chat in the car — at least, not directly. All communication has been in said group chat, and honestly it’s usually Mingyu interacting with the other boys, or both of them reacting to whatever picture Minghao sends of China or Soonyoung’s slew of selfies. Or random updates about how their spring breaks are going.

It was never really discussed. More like implied. They need to have a break from one another because things were/are tense, and there’s a whole lot of guilt on both sides. If Jihoon couldn’t look Chaeyeon in the eyes before, wow, it’s gonna be a real challenge now.

Not that he has to for the next two weeks. Instead, he sees her indirectly, like his indirect conversations with Mingyu, on social media. Pictures of them standing side by side, holding hands, in front of pastel pink boutiques or a bed of flowers or a field or whatever. Sometimes Mingyu is smiling down at her like he’s never seen anyone prettier (he probably hasn’t), sometimes they’re both smiling or making silly faces at the camera. _Gyu Gyu is here for moral support. Love this oversized puppy~ [dog emoji] [heart emoji]_ , her captions say.

Yes. He follows Chaeyeon. Because they’re kinda sorta friends, and she’s cool people and she followed him first as her attempt at building a friendship. She’s kinda sorta friends with the entire clique now.

But, whatever. More unimportant details. It’s just… Jihoon is trying to enjoy his peace and solitude in Busan with his parents that are the same calm and collected that he is. And his brain that ruminates over things that Don’t Matter sees this as the perfect opportunity to remind him of stupid memories, tell him that he should check Instagram over and over again for any updates on Chaeyeon and her Oversized Puppy.

Jihoon’s bad at telling his brain no. He’s bad at saying no to his desires in general, hence his lapse of judgement at Seungcheol’s house party (plus a hundred other judgement lapses). Also, like, Mingyu’s birthday, right? It coincides with the spring break, and when it rolls around Jihoon wakes up to a million texts in the group chat. And there are soooo many Instagram stories of friends and acquaintances and groupies and old flings alike posting pictures of them with Mingyu, tagging him, waxing poetic about how great of a person he is and that they hope he enjoys his 23rd birthday.

Hǎo Minghao: _HBD GYU!!! I’m so sad we can’t celebrate your big day together like we did last year, but sometimes shit doesn’t work out lol. obvs i can’t give you a present, but i cash app’d you some money. get yourself something nice_

Jeonghanie: _happy birthday mingyu :) even if you get on my nerves sometimes, you’re the goofiest flower boy i ever met. enjoy your day with chaeyeon, you lovebirds_

white people call him vernon: _mingyu_. _MINGYU. happy birthday, man. another year that you’ve been stuck with us, and hopefully many more years you’re still stuck with us lmao_

Soonyoung [blonde man emoji]: _i love you mingyu. happy birthday :)_

Minggu _: Thanks you guys. got me here tearing up. when summer semester comes we gotta do some crazy shit together. love all of you_

Wow. Okay. By the time Jihoon gets through his morning routine, eats breakfast with his parents, and goes on a leisure walk through the neighborhood, all the other guys have already sent their happy birthday texts. Leaving Jihoon as the lone soldier. Yikes. Just because they’re not _talking_ talking doesn’t mean he can’t send a quick happy birthday, or something. He has to now, anyways, or he’ll look like a weirdo and also make Mingyu think that they’re not okay/moving on/starting over.

Jihoon sits on the curb with his phone, hoodie over his head, and thinks. Alright. This is what he’ll do. He scrolls through his camera roll for a while, looking for the perfect one — and when he finds it, he opens up Instagram and taps on ‘your story’. Then he types away.

The end result is a picture. A polaroid of the two of them that he thinks Minghao took; they didn’t realize he was taking it until after the flash happened and Minghao was grinning at them, saying something about how candid photos were the best. In it, Mingyu has his hands on Jihoon’s waist, looking down at him as he animatedly tells him something. It’s the profile of their faces — the entire side of their bodies, really — and around them are other students mid-dance or drinking or chatting. A party hosted at Minghao and Soonyoung’s apartment.

Jihoon has his hands crossed in the photo, but he’s laughing at what Mingyu is saying, his eyes crescent moons, mouth wide open. Mingyu’s hair isn’t brown yet, and Jihoon’s ink-black fringe is overgrown as fuck — but it’s the happiest photo of the two of them that he has. Normally Mingyu is the one behind the camera, taking pictures of him. It’s rare to have a picture taken by another person of only them.

He adds his caption — _Happy 23rd birthday to this giant doofus. It’s been six years of feeling like a midget next to you, but I’m wiling to deal with it because you’re you. Come home to Busan sometimes before my mom harasses me to death kekekeke_ — and tags Mingyu before posting it. Mingyu better fucking appreciate this peace offering (can he call whatever this is that if they’re not even fighting?), ‘cause Jihoon seldom if ever posts pictures on his account, let alone _stories_. This is an isolated event that may not come again in their lifetime. Like a solar eclipse.

Jihoon doesn’t bother saying it in the group chat. That’s kinda redundant, and Jihoon is not a fan of redundancy. Sometimes. Instead, he stands and takes his leisure walk back to his house, grabs an apple on the way up to his room. The sun is falling by this time of day, and his parents are out working, leaving him to entertain himself. He fills the time with a marathon of an old classic: Cowboy Bebop.

His phone buzzes with a notification three episodes in, and he, eyes still glued to the TV screen, blindly picks up his phone and taps the passcode in. When he finally manages to pry his eyes away, he sees that it’s a DM. From Mingyu. Jihoon taps on it.

min9yu_k: _I love you Jihoonie. glad i met you._

Okay. They’re not sentimental very often, but this is still what best friends do. They get sentimental. Jihoon feels his chest getting tighter, throat closing up.

11ji_lee: _me too_

He doesn’t close the app because Mingyu’s already typing, hasn’t even left the conversation.

min9yu_k: _miss you._

It’s only been a week, Oversized Puppy.

11ji_lee: _me too_

Jihoon puts his phone on the bed, face-up, and watches Mingyu type.

min9yu_k: _it’s weird not seeing you on my birthday lol. we gotta do something when we’re back on campus_

He taps at the screen with his index finger without picking it up.

11ji_lee: _you know i’m always down kekeke_

Okay. Jihoon’s gotta stop entertaining this conversation now. He still needs time to process and reset and this is having him think about all the things that don’t matter.

Later that night, an hour before midnight, Chaeyeon puts a video up. Jihoon taps on it because he can’t sleep and he’s bored and he’s almost one hundred percent sure it has something to do with a certain someone’s birthday.

And, duh — it does.

From the looks of it, they’re at a fancy Seoul restaurant; the camera is on Mingyu, whose hair is in a side part and slicked back, dressed in a cream-colored dress shirt. A mini cake with a single lit candle is sitting in front of him, and he’s looking at whoever is holding the phone, an expectant smile on his face. “ _What do you think it is_?” Chaeyeon’s saying with a giggle.

“ _I ‘dunno_ ,” Mingyu says, grin going lopsided, canines out to play. “ _What is it_?”

Chaeyeon’s arm comes into view, extending a velvety jewelry box to Mingyu. Mingyu takes it, eyes still on her, says, “ _No way. Did you?_ ”

Chaeyeon answers with a laugh. “ _Open it, Gyu_.”

Mingyu very reluctantly opens it, mouth gaping when he sees what’s inside. “ _You did. Holy sh — cow. Wow._ ” He pinches the jewelry with his index and thumb finger, lifts it into view. A Cartier bracelet. The one that looks like a long nail bent into a circular shape. Guess that actress money is being put to good use. “ _Chae. This is incredible. Thank you!_ ”

The video cuts. The caption is a fucking essay recounting their past year and a half with one another, and Jihoon tries to read it. He really, really does — trust. But the more he reads the tighter his chest gets and the harder it gets to breathe. And he can’t read a caption if he can’t breathe, y’know, because he’ll pass out before he can finish? And also his vision is suddenly blurry, which must be because he’s been staring at his phone all day, and that’s not good for your eyes? Especially when you’re reading in the dark?(???)

Yep. Time for bed. Jihoon connects his phone to the charger and puts it face down on his nightstand.

He needs a girlfriend. Probably.

* * *

Jihoon spends his final week of spring break giving his parents as much face time as possible. They don’t see him much since he’s been going to university and he feels bad for not calling or texting as often as he should. So he takes his guilt and turns it into something productive: he gets up early to make and eat breakfast with them, waits for them to come home from work so they can eat dinner and digest the food with an evening walk.

And he humors his mom when she asks him a million questions about how his physics classes are going, what he plans to do when he graduates, if he still wants to be an idol or composer or whatever he wants to be, if he’s still minoring in that “useless” music composition degree. They mean well. They do. His parents can be blunt, straight to the point, but Jihoon can, too — that’s where he gets it from. If he can’t take it he can’t dole it out. So he humors her. Them.

Physics classes are going well, he doesn’t know what his plans are after graduation; he just hopes he gets an internship and they hire him, yes he still kinda sorta wants to be an “idol or composer or whatever he wants to be,” yes he’s still minoring in the “useless” music composition degree. He grins and bares it for the whole fucking week, basks in the pleasant moments when they arrive, keeps himself busy busy busy.

Mingyu occasionally texts him throughout the week. Outside of the group chat. Asking what he’s up to, how are the parents, tells him about what he saw and did in Seoul. Sends pictures of the set Chaeyeon is on, of himself posing, of the food he’s eating. Normal friend stuff. It brings Jihoon back down from wherever he went when he saw Chaeyeon’s Instagram caption. This is their reset. This is what best friends do.

Jihoon is happy for him.

* * *

When the summer semester is in full swing, Jihoon is better. Refreshed. Revived. Rejuvenated. All of the above and then some. He loves his friends, and his friend group, and his best friend, and he’s going to make good grades, do fun stuff with said friends, and be the cool and collected man he always has been. Yes. He has to cherish what he has before he overthinks and fucks it all up.

The gang reconvenes at the dining hall. Soonyoung and Minghao are already seated at a corner table, sharing a plate of two pizza slices and a side salad (definitely Minghao’s doing), when Jihoon takes a spot across from them with his own plate of food and a bottle of Coke. Hansol and Jeonghan aren’t far behind, Hansol going to sit at the empty seat next to Minghao, Jeonghan taking the spot on Jihoon’s side of the table, at the end so there’s an open spot for Mingyu in the middle.

“How does it feel to be back in Korea?” Hansol asks Minghao, situating his bowl of vegetable soup on top of a folded stack of napkins. Despite it being warm outside, Hansol, committed to his brand, is wearing an orange beanie, tufts of his dark brown hair sticking out underneath.

Minghao has one arm draped over Soonyoung’s shoulders, fingers playing absently with the loose blonde strands by his ear. He waits for Soonyoung to take a bite of the cheese pizza before he takes it from him. “Honestly? Good. I used to get crazy homesick whenever I’d come back from break, but, like, I’ve been living here so long that it feels like a second home.”

“A home away from home,” Soonyoung offers, watches Minghao eat from the slice before grabbing it back from him.

“Right,” Minghao says around his mouthful of food. And he looks pretty refreshed himself, Jihoon thinks while looking at the two of them go right back to their flirtatious behavior; Minghao’s skin has a new glow to it, his eyes sparkling, body relaxed in the seat. Like the China sun brought him back to life.

Jeonghan watches them for a moment, mouth opening like he wants to say something — but it seems like he decides against it, says, “Coming back to campus depresses me. Another semester of cramming for exams and doing projects at the last minute,” instead.

Hansol nods, swallows some of the soup he sucks up. “I feel that, man. My parents drive me batshit insane when I go back home, but I’d let them nag me all day if it means I can get my degree and get the fuck outta here.”

“Dude,” Jihoon says with a frustrated sigh. “My mom brought up my minor being useless _again_. Every time I go home she says the same fucking thing.”

Jeonghan laughs. “I gotta give it to her,” he says to Jihoon. “She is one stubborn woman. Must be where you get it from.”

“Yeah, well, she can keep stubbornly nagging me about it, and I will stubbornly keep my minor,” Jihoon retorts before cracking open the cap to his Coke bottle and taking a couple of gulps. He’ll keep stubbornly hoping to work in the music business, too, but he decides against saying all of that. It’s not something he wants to get into; Minghao, the ever practical one, always lectures him on making sure he has a day job with his physics degree before risking financial ruin with composing.

And Minghao’s right, of course, he’s always right, but Jihoon likes to dream, and he can’t live in ignorant bliss if he’s always met with well-meaning advice.

“How’s Somi?” Soonyoung asks Hansol. “She stayed with you all break, right?”

Hansol starts on his BLT, slicing it in half with his steak knife. “Only, like, a week. Her spring break started a week before ours, so she couldn’t stay the whole time.”

“If you have children,” Soonyoung continues. “Will the kid be, like… half Korean and half white still? How does that work?”

Minghao’s mouth twists in a way that makes it clear he’s trying to hold back a laugh, shuts himself up with another bite of pizza. Hansol doesn’t even bother to look up from the work he’s making on his sandwich, so accustomed to Soonyoung’s antics by now.

“Yes,” Jeonghan chokes out, fighting his own laughter. “The kid will, indeed, still be half white, Soonyoung.” A smile finally breaks through Hansol’s forced blasé expression.

“Cool,” Soonyoung grins.

Minghao gives the remaining slice of pizza to Soonyoung and moves on to his side salad. “Speaking of girlfriends,” Minghao jumps in. “Mingyu is taking forever. Is her class on the other side of campus or something?”

“ _Right_ ,” Soonyoung says, shooting up to survey each man’s face. “Did you guys see what she got him for his birthday? Is she really that rich?”

“He’s got half a year’s worth of rent money on his wrist,” Jeonghan deadpans. “Let’s jump him for it when he gets here. My loan disbursement hasn’t come yet.”

Hansol laughs. “We’ve _gotta_ call him a sugar baby from now on,” he tells them. “Bully him out of wearing it in public.”

Jihoon quietly watches them conspire to embarrass Mingyu, tries to ignore the uneasy feeling turning his stomach into knots. ‘Cause that makes it, like, super serious now, right? The relationship? Chaeyeon loves him enough to gift him something way too expensive to be parading around, their two-year anniversary is around the corner, and Jihoon doesn’t know a lot about Christianity, but what he does know is that Christian people get married early. And that people in non-serious relationships don’t gift half a year’s worth of rent money. Not that there are non-serious exclusive relationships — when you decide to be exclusive with somebody that’s serious in and of itself — he just means relationships that haven’t been taken to the next level yet.

You don’t give expensive gifts to somebody that you don’t see a future with. A future that is marriage. But, isn’t there a process for that? For Christians, at least. Like, before getting engaged it’s practically a requirement for the man to meet —

“What’s up, lovers!” Mingyu slides up to the table with a bottle of water and a brownie. His hair is in the same side part Jihoon saw in the Instagram video, except it’s not slicked back; his fringe falls over part of his left eye, and he has to keep flipping his head back to move it from his line of vision. And. Much like Minghao, he looks refreshed, his tan skin shimmering even under the fluorescent lights. Back to his preppy boy concept, he’s wearing a v-neck white blouse tucked into tan slacks, his shoes backless oxfords.

Everyone at the table’s eyes snap straight down to Mingyu’s right wrist, where the bracelet rests, a pristine golden.

“What’s up, rich boy,” Hansol says to the bracelet. “I take it Seoul was everything you wished for and more?”

Mingyu only laughs, straight teeth, charming canines, yadda yadda. The same ‘ol shit, different day, looking handsome and laid-back and oh so taken. Jihoon has to tear his eyes away, starts reading the label on his Coke bottle. 50mg of sodium, wow, that’s crazy.

“Like a fairy tale,” Jeonghan sing-songs as Mingyu walks over to the open seat, sits down and immediately scoots the chair over so it’s pressed against Jihoon’s. “Don’t forget us when you’re living it big in her fancy house in Gangnam.”

Mingyu shakes his head incredulously, but his dopey smile is still on his face. He puts his water bottle down and turns to Jihoon, extending the brownie. “Want half?”

Jihoon lets himself take the brownie, breaks it in half before giving the rest to Mingyu. He wants to look in Mingyu’s face, but the bracelet is right there, and it has it’s own magnetic field or something. He watches it slide up and down Mingyu’s arm as he stuffs a chunk of the brownie into his mouth.

“You have to tell us all about it,” Minghao is saying. “What did you guys do on your big day?”

“Did you stay at her house?” Soonyoung asks. “Were her parents there? Does she have a maid? Did they let you sleep with her in her room?”

Hansol cackles and leans forward to look past Minghao at Soonyoung. “Slow down there, dude. He just got here — let the man eat his brownie first.”

“What I would like to know,” Minghao interjects. “is how the birthday went. The other details can wait.”

And that is precisely what Mingyu goes on to retell. No, they got an AirBnb so that they could have privacy. The day started with breakfast in bed. Then they went shopping together. Then they had lunch at this fancy seafood place. Then they went back to the AirBnb to relax in the house’s jacuzzi and talk and… Mingyu doesn’t say it, but the implication is that they fucked. Then they watched a movie together in bed. Then they got all dressed up and went to have dinner at the restaurant they saw in the Instagram video. And — yes, he met her parents, so stop asking, Soonyoung. They were very nice and very kind and he knows Chaeyeon is gonna be gorgeous when she’s in her fifties because her mom looks fantastic.

When the guys are satisfied with the answers, they finally fucking move on to what Jeonghan did in his own hometown. Jihoon has ripped off the label from his bottle during the course of the story, shredded it into little pieces, anything to busy his hands.

Then Mingyu is turning away from the conversation to consider Jihoon. “Did your mom really keep harassing you about me?” he asks with a pleased smile. Normal, unaffected Mingyu. Jihoon isn’t sure what he’s thinking and it kinda unnerves him.

Regardless, Jihoon knows he needs to stop acting like a weirdo. This is not what the reset was supposed to be; he came back determined to return to what they tried since Mingyu’s been taken — friendly, non-cheating behavior — and that’s what he’s going to do. Cool, collected Jihoon.

Alright.

He forces himself to meet Mingyu’s eyes. “Yeah,” he says. “She’s in love with you, dude. I think she’d divorce my dad for you if you asked for her hand in marriage.”

Mingyu laughs. He’s watching Jihoon’s hands aimlessly play with the shredded pieces of the label when he says, “Hey, your mom’s pretty hot. I’m up for it. Then I can be your step-dad and boss you around.”

Jihoon grimaces at him. “Dude, stop, you’re gonna make me barf up this brownie.” Mingyu laughs again, a hand coming down to grab Jihoon’s mid-thigh through his red track-pants. Jihoon stiffens for a moment, tells himself that this is pre-cheating behavior stop being stupid, jesus, and relaxes into the touch. But it’s the hand with the bracelet, and when it rolls down Mingyu’s arm to sit under the palm, Jihoon’s gaze falls down with it.

Mingyu is still looking at him. Which means he sees what Jihoon sees. And Mingyu knows him better than anybody — probably knows him better than he knows himself — and that’s because he has Lee Jihoon mind-reading abilities that Jihoon usually likes since it means when they go out and he doesn’t wanna talk Mingyu knows what to order him or get for him or say to the customer service people, but. But now that things have changed (and not for the best) Jihoon hates it.

“Pretty cool, right?” Mingyu says. His voice has fallen a decimal, but Jihoon manages to hear him over Soonyoung and Jeonghan screeching about something concerning what Jeonghan did at home. And Jihoon watches as Mingyu slips the bracelet off of his wrist, takes Jihoon’s wrist in his hand, and slides it over Jihoon’s smaller hand. “Gold looks good on your skin.”

It feels heavy and expensive. And warm form being pressed against Mingyu’s arm all day. And. Jihoon sits there dumbly, lifting his arm to look at how much bigger the bracelet looks on his arm versus Mingyu’s, so fucking confused as to why Mingyu would take off half a year’s worth of rent money — the sentimental gift that Chaeyeon got him for his _birthday_ — and put it on Jihoon like it’s no big deal. Like it’s the designer leather jacket he got for cheap at a thrift shop, meaningless when he drapes it over Jihoon’s shoulders.

Jihoon looks up at Mingyu, but Mingyu’s still looking at his wrist.

“She’s gonna be mad you’re letting other people wear this,” Jihoon says, trying for a jokey tone with the remaining air in his lungs. “I’ll snitch.”

Now Mingyu looks at him. “Okay,” he says. “Tell her.”

They stare at one another for a moment. A long moment. At least, a moment that feels long to Jihoon. Again, he can’t tell what Mingyu’s thinking — his expression is unreadable, leaning on playful — and Jihoon keeps feeling unnerved. There was a time when Jihoon could tell, when things weren’t so complicated.

 _Stop complicating things_ , Mingyu had said that night. That Night. Jihoon does do that a lot, doesn’t he? Complicate everything like he’s doing right now, placing extra value on a bracelet that Mingyu clearly does not share.

“You’re bluffing,” Jihoon says, cracking a smile. He takes off the bracelet without breaking their stare, grabs Mingyu’s thicker arm and puts it back on him. “Gold looks better on tan skin.”

And then he tunes into the conversation the other guys are having.

* * *

The group being back together for another semester means a return to being dumb asses. And dumb asses they became — getting kicked out of the study hall for being too loud (mostly Soonyoung, but hey, if one is acting up they all are); late nights fucking around at somebody’s place and only getting three hours of sleep before morning lectures; skipping class to skateboard in empty parking lots and take pictures with Mingyu’s polaroid camera; going out on the weekend and drinking themselves into a stupor.

And that’s all in the first week.

Sometimes Mingyu is right there with them, acting a fool, sometimes he isn’t — mandatory girlfriend nights. Duh. But that Saturday night Chaeyeon is spending time with her own friends, and that means Mingyu is reunited with the guys, crammed into Jeonghan’s Hyundai in the parking lot of a Wendy’s, passing around a blunt and saying whatever nonsense that comes to mind first.

There are only 5 spots in the car, which means Minghao is sitting on Soonyoung’s lap in the back, Jihoon is in the middle seat, Mingyu is next to him, and Hansol is in the passenger. Jeonghan is in the driver’s seat, of course. “This bring back memories?” Mingyu whispers to Jihoon after taking a hit, smoke curling out of his mouth as he says it.

Jihoon, laughing and shoving Mingyu’s arm, making him laugh too, says, “Shut up,” before taking the tiny blunt from him. It’s pretty much gone by the fourth time around, so Jihoon makes quick work before passing it along to Minghao.

Jeonghan turns around in his seat to look at Soonyoung and Minghao. “Okay,” he says. He turns down the rap song that’s playing. “I’ve been behaving myself all week. But. Can we talk about it now?”

“Talk about it,” Minghao parrots before taking a hit of whatever’s left of the blunt. He crushes it against door and rolls the window down to toss it out.

“You know what I’m talking about.”

Jihoon feels Mingyu snake an arm around his waist, pulling him in as if they aren’t already squeezed together, and Jihoon leans into him. There’s the sandalwood, citrus, mixed with the stench of weed. It feels nice, familiar, after being away from him for several weeks.

“Alright,” Minghao says, sighing like he’s been burdened with a big task. “I like Soonyoung and Soonyoung likes me. There.”

Jeonghan pauses. Stares at Minghao for an uncomfortably long time. Then, “Maybe I’m too high to understand, but it doesn’t sound like you’ve answered anything.”

Hansol snickers, turns to look out the passenger door window.

Minghao sighs again. “Well. That’s all there is to it.”

Jeonghan blinks. Slowly. “So… fuck buddies?”

“No,” Soonyoung answers quickly.

“But _not_ dating.” It’s said like a statement, meant as a question.

“Yeah,” Soonyoung says. Thinks. “Actually. Dating, but not exclusive.”

“Then fuck buddies.”

“No, dude, fuck,” Minghao says, slumping back onto Soonyoung. Hansol starts to snicker again. “Hansol, stop acting like a fucking laugh track and egging this clown on. I’ll fight both of you out in the parking lot. Don’t test me.”

Hansol laughs harder and turns around to look at him. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he bites out between giggles, a fist to his mouth. “This shit is just so funny to me. I ‘dunno. Sorry.”

“What part of this is funny?” Minghao retorts, frowning. “I’m not finding the humor.”

“Jeonghan being all pushy, you guys dodging it, I ‘dunno. I have a weird sense of humor I guess, my bad.” Hansol clears his throat and tries for a more serious face — as serious a face High Hansol can make. “I’m happy for you guys. Whatever it is. You didn’t have to be all secretive about it, though — we’re your friends. You can trust us.”

Jihoon starts to squirm, is stilled by Mingyu tightening his grip around his waist. There are some secrets best kept.

“We can trust Jeonghan?” Mingyu says, starts laughing and begging for mercy when Jeonghan leans over the console to punch his leg. “We can trust Jeonghan, I’m sorry!”

“It wasn’t exactly a secret,” Soonyoung says. He tilts his head to the side to look around Minghao at Hansol. “It’s just hard to explain. Like, what would you say?”

“That you’re seeing one another?” Jeonghan offers. “You’re attracted to one another? Something? ‘Cause with the way you were always moaning over not having a girlfriend led me to believe you were, like. Single and straight.”

“I am single.” Soonyoung pauses. “Maybe not so straight.”

Jeonghan groans, flopping back into the driver’s seat. “I am so confused, dude. How are you _single_?”

“Can we get off this topic now?” Minghao interjects. “The point is that there was nothing to say. And that we’re not fuck buddies so fuck off with that. New topic, please.”

“Okay, new topic,” Mingyu says. “Jihoon’s mom wants to fuck me.”

Jihoon, who was sitting quietly and minding his own damn business thank you very much, shoots up, cheeks burning. “Dude, I told you to stop!” Everyone in the car starts cackling, which makes Jihoon’s face burn hotter and ears turn red. “I fucking hate you, dude, holy shit. Get off me.”

Jihoon tries to pry Mingyu’s arm off his waist, but Mingyu holds on, moving with him as Jihoon scoots closer to Soonyoung and Minghao. “Wait, you’re warm, don’t go!” Mingyu cries through his laugh.

“You lost touching privileges and you know what you did. Get off!” Jihoon fights harder, knocking into the two men beside him as he and Mingyu wrestle.

“You’re hitting me!” Soonyoung shrieks, shoving back against Jihoon with the hand not holding Minghao’s waist. “Stay over there!”

The asshole knows what he did and how unnecessary it was; he could’ve said _anything_. Fuck it. Jihoon leans over Mingyu and pulls the door handle, shoves the door open. Mingyu realizes what he’s doing and attempts to bear hug him to keep him in the car, but Jihoon is faster and crawls over Mingyu’s lap and out into safety.

At least, that’s what he believes, until Mingyu is hopping out of the fucking car after him, chases him around the parking lot when Jihoon breaks into a sprint. “Go away, you creep! Stop following me!” They end up making circles around the car, the other men watching, entertained, for a moment until Hansol says something and they focus on him.

And Jihoon’s fast, but Mingyu’s faster (or he’s high and he feels slower than he actually is); his long legs cover twice the ground Jihoon’s do with half the effort. Lucky asshole. He catches up to Jihoon after several evasion tactics of Jihoon running opposite directions around the Hyundai. Then Mingyu’s crouching down to wrap his arms around Jihoon’s waist, hauling him up and off his feet.

Jihoon flails around fruitlessly, his snapback falling off of his head and freeing his bedhead. “Put me down, asshole, _stop_ — ! “ Unfortunately, his strength leaves him because he starts laughing, and Mingyu starts laughing, and Mingyu’s carrying him back to the open car door until his strength also leaves him and he has to let Jihoon down.

An attempt at retribution (yes, only retribution) has Jihoon turn around and shove at Mingyu, biting out more expletives while laughing, and Mingyu tries to grab at his arms to stop him as Jihoon shoves over and over again. Then shove number four is intercepted by Mingyu finally catching Jihoon’s forearm, and he pulls Jihoon in, a tug that has so much untapped power behind it, Mingyu using just enough to get Jihoon closer to him. Jihoon knows even if he didn’t come pliantly — which he does — Mingyu still would’ve managed to bodily move him. And that’s what flashes through Jihoon’s weed-addled mind, setting off something warm and visceral in his lower abdomen, when Mingyu wraps his arms around him, holding him in a hug.

Jihoon leans onto his chest, hugs him back. Mingyu rocks them side to side, says, “Missed you,” in such a gentle tone that it strikes Jihoon right through the heart. His mouth feels too dry to respond. Yeah. 

And Jihoon doesn’t know how long they remain that way, but some unknown amount of time passes until Jeonghan’s sticking his head out of the driver’s seat window and shouts, “C’mon, tall and small, before we leave you!”

“Not small,” Jihoon grumbles, unwrapping himself from Mingyu’s embrace.

* * *

Alright. Jihoon didn’t lie. This is their reset. Promise. They don’t kiss, they don’t grope — none of it. Because Mingyu is taken, and that would be wrong and not within even their standards for what best friends do. As Jihoon has repeated to himself a million times before, there’s no rulebook for best friendship, but making out and giving one another hand jobs while one of them is in a relationship is not cool. Not cool.

But what _is_ within limits, they do. Straddling the line of decency, perhaps, but Jihoon tries not to dwell on that. When they’re with the boys, watching a movie or studying together or in the car or wherever, Mingyu will massage into Jihoon’s thigh, his fingers snaking around to the inside, squeezing and displacing the muscle found there. And Jihoon will lean into him, palm on his back or nape, playing with the little brown hairs.

Thankfully, the summer semester isn’t as intense as fall and spring’s, which gives Jihoon a little more leg room to slack off. His schedule is full of physics labs that he refused to take with 18 credits already on his plate, along with a scatter of lectures to meet his music comp minor requirements. Mingyu’s schedule is also lighter, a lot lighter, which means that if he isn’t with Chaeyeon, he’s following Jihoon to his classes and sitting with him in the back row. Editing photos while Jihoon studies across from him in the library. Going to the on-campus KFC and braving the long-ass lines in between classes with him.

It’s… comfortable. A routine that they’ve always had. One that was, arguably, way more regular pre-girlfriend.

There’s something else, though. A difference to their dynamic that if Jihoon’s brain wasn’t already so attuned to the slightest of changes (driving him crazy with innocuous details), he wouldn’t have noticed it.

’It’ starts at a “kickback” that Hansol hosts at his apartment for his close friends. Hansol has a lot of friends since he has that cool, popular-guy kinda aura, though, so what’s meant to be a casual little get-together turns into, like, thirty of Hansol’s circle scattered about his two-bed two-bath unit.

The music is loud and _has_ to be bothering his neighbors, the bass making making everything feel like it’s vibrating. And Jihoon feels like he’s vibrating, too, one too many shots fed to him by a pushy, enabling Soonyoung. He starts to feel himself teetering to the level of drunken-ness that flushes his cheeks and belly a deep pink, his body so light and yet so heavy that he goes to ground himself in the kitchen, sitting up on the counters with the assorted chips, sodas, liquor.

Everyone else is back out in the living room and hallway leading to Hansol’s bedrooms, shouting and laughing and playing beer pong, leaving Jihoon to recuperate by himself. Which is exactly what he wants and what he needs, but then Mingyu is walking into the kitchen, and Jihoon thinks that maybe that’s exactly what he wants and needs, too.

“You and that leather jacket,” Jihoon says with a loose laugh, words only slightly slurring. “I know you have other shit you can wear.”

Mingyu, raking his fingers through his own hair to get it out of his face, smirks. “I’ll retire this jacket as soon as you stop wearing black sweatshirts and joggers to parties. Deal?” Jihoon watches him make himself a poor man’s screwdriver with the orange juice and vodka sitting next to Jihoon.

“Whatever, man. Black on black is, like, my brand. And there’s no one here to impress, so why not.”

Mingyu takes a sip of his creation from the red solo cup, one eyebrow rising at Jihoon as he does so. When he swallows, he says, mouth wet, “How do you know that? There are some hot chicks out there that could’ve been into you if you put in even a tiny bit of effort.”

Jihoon grabs the drink from Mingyu and takes a sip. More orange juice than vodka. He likes that. Mingyu watches him with his hands pressed to the edge of the counter, one close enough to brush against Jihoon’s thigh.

“Do you wear these kinda outfits when Chaeyeon’s around?” Jihoon asks. It’s the first time he willingly brings her up since Wow That Party Was Crazy, Huh? Version 2, and while sober Jihoon would’ve never even dared or bothered, drunk, pink-cheeked Jihoon doesn’t give a fuck. He keeps going. “I only see you dress like a prep when you’re with her.”

Mingyu considers him for a moment, lets the loud voices and louder music fill the quiet between them. Jihoon considers him, too.

Then Mingyu says, sliding over to Jihoon so he’s slotted between his legs, arms bracketing Jihoon in on the outside of each thigh, “She doesn’t like it when I wear too much black,” in a tone that sounds way too sultry for such a mundane response.

Jihoon watches Mingyu watch his mouth. He can feel his heart start to pulse in his throat. But he’s still sane enough to tame his desires. “You like it, though,” he says back to Mingyu’s mouth.

“I like preppy clothes, too.”

“ _Do_ you?”

Mingyu huffs a laugh. “What are you trying to say?”

Now Jihoon looks into his eyes. Almond-shaped, encircled by brown eyeshadow, pupils blown wide. “That I like how you look when you’re wearing black,” he finds himself whispering.

Another breathy laugh from Mingyu. One hand comes up to Jihoon’s face, fingers brushing across his jaw, cheek, leaving tingles of heat in its wake. His thumb, big and square, catches on Jihoon’s pink bottom lip, tugs it down only a fraction. “Thought you hated this jacket, though,” Mingyu returns in a similar whisper.

“Doesn’t mean I hate when you wear black.”

And Jihoon’s almost one hundred percent sure that Mingyu is going to kiss him. He won’t stop staring at his mouth, a shadow of a smile on his own, the pad of his thumb caressing Jihoon’s bottom lip. _Fuck_ , Jihoon’s thinking through the haze of alcohol and longing, they’re gonna fuck everything up again. Why do they keep going to parties together when it’s clear this is their trigger to do stupid shit? Why do they keep isolating themselves during said parties, creating perfect opportunities to fuck everything up?

What ever happened to starting over?

Then Mingyu’s hand drops off Jihoon’s face at the perfect time, because Minghao is stumbling into the kitchen with an empty cup, and he pauses at the threshold when he sees them so close together. So intimate.

“Oh,” Minghao says. “‘Sup.”

“‘Sup,” Mingyu returns, very casual and very unlike the way Jihoon’s heart is thumping so hard he swears it’s going to leap right out of his mouth. He slowly slides away from Jihoon and to Minghao, drapes an arm around his thin shoulders and tugs him in. “You want a screwdriver? I know you like fruity stuff.”

“Yeah, sure,” Minghao says, and they step to the drinks to do just that, Jihoon watching dumbly from his spot on the counter.

Another bad situation avoided, Minghao being the saving grace — but Jihoon doesn’t stop thinking about it. ‘It’, amongst several other ‘it’ moments over the course of the next few weeks, stack up in his head until everything is too crowded, makes it difficult for him to pay attention during labs, lectures, while studying.

There’s the night Jeonghan uncharacteristically drank _way_ too much, and during their walk to find a cheaper spot for the uber to pick them up, he rushed behind a dumpster and barfed. Everyone was laughing, even as Minghao ran up to console him — and Tipsy Mingyu was holding Tipsy Jihoon from behind, bent over to rest his chin on his shoulder, giggling and squeezing him until Jihoon was squirming and giggling, too.

And of course he can’t forget about the movie night they arranged on a Thursday because Mingyu was going to go on a weekend getaway with Chaeyeon, when the couch was already claimed by Mingyu, Soonyoung, and Hansol, leaving Jihoon and Jeonghan to find a place on the floor. And Jihoon was about to situate himself and his beautiful bowl of buttery popcorn onto the floor in front of Soonyoung, but Mingyu shot forward and grabbed him by the waist, pulling him back to sit in between Mingyu’s legs.

Maybe Jihoon should’ve fought it and moved to sit on the rug in support of the other couch refugee, Jeonghan, but… okay, fine, he didn’t. He didn’t, and it ended up being a two hour endeavor of Mingyu pressing his fingers into his sides to make him startle, stealing popcorn from his hands before he can get it into his mouth, whispering jokes in his ear about the actors in the action movie Jihoon was _actually_ trying to watch and making him bite back giggles. Very dumb and very blatantly straddling the line that separated Okay from Not Okay.

The worst part is that it wasn’t only Mingyu. Jihoon would jam his fingers between Mingyu’s ribs when he least expected it, and Mingyu would yelp and go _okay, that’s it, you’re dead_ , before returning the finger-jabs. Sometimes it was with the other guys, sometimes it wasn’t, and sometimes they’d only stop when Jeonghan would yell at them to stop acting like a discount Minghao and Soonyoung. (Minghao and Soonyoung didn’t like that.) 

Soon the line is straddled so frequently that it starts to fade, and that means that Jihoon becomes unsure of what’s crossing it or not. He _should_ know what’s crossing it, considering he’s a grown fucking man with a (-n almost) fully functioning prefrontal cortex, but how do you decipher that when the majority of their friendship has always been straddling said line?

Then.

Then one weekend Mingyu goes to hang out with Chaeyeon and her friends and her friends’ boyfriends. Like a quadruple date. And Jihoon’s in the library on an early Saturday afternoon trying to get three lab reports typed up and ready to submit for Monday’s due date. Hansol’s with him because he also has lab reports to write for his mechanical engineering labs, but only physically; he has noise-canceling headphones on, fully absorbed in what he’s typing on the Google document.

Normal student behavior. That’s the scene Jihoon’s trying to set here.

So, Jihoon’s hyper-focused on the table he’s creating on his word document when a text pops up on his computer screen. From _Minggu_. Not in the group chat. He gets at least the skeleton of the table done before he lets himself check it out.

Minggu: _dude im trying to be a good sport but i hate this lmao_

Minggu: _her friends boyfriends are all kinda weird and i think chae can tell im not a big fan so she’s trying to include me in her convos with her friends_

Jihoon snickers, starts to type.

Jihoon: _where are you guys?_

Minggu: _some country club. you’d fucking hate it. one of their dads is celebrating some business thingy so we’re playing golf and drinking champagne_

Minggu: _you’re also gonna hate this lol_

Minggu: [Photo attachment]

Spoiler alert: Jihoon doesn’t hate it. It’s a mirror selfie of Mingyu in what appears to be the bathroom of the country club. He’s wearing a stark white button-down, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing off his fit arms. The top few buttons are undone, revealing the tan skin of his chest, where his pecs just start to come in. His hair is in a very slight side-part, fringe in waves that flow off his face. It’s glowing that slight orange color under the bathroom’s chandelier lights.

His head is turned at an angle, eyebrows straight, jaw clenched. And, the cherry on top, the gold bracelet is hanging off his right wrist.

OK. Okay. Alright. Woah. Jihoon’s idiot brain types and sends the first thing that comes to mind. This time — and this is where the first mistake comes in — he doesn’t stop himself.

Jihoon: _you look good._

Jihoon: _really good._

Right after it delivers, the typing bubble pops up on the left side of the message box.

Minggu: _you think so?_

Minggu: _thought you’d hate it since i’m back to the preppy look lol_

Don’t do it. Don’t do it, dude. Let it go and tell Mingyu it sucks that her friends’ boyfriends are braindead and that he hopes Chaeyeon and her friends-that-Mingyu-likes saves him. Tell him golfing is the worst, yeah. Make a joke about how they should be doing something fancier like Polo. Lee Jihoon.

Jihoon: _nah you look really fucking good_

Jihoon: _122K you’re the hottest guy there_

 _Lee Jihoon_. Idiot. He is the biggest idiot on the planet, and regret should be hitting him right now — regret and a lot of shame, ‘cause he’s shameful and shameless all at once, and yet. Yet he isn’t. He’s sitting there, lab reports abandoned, watching as Mingyu types back, breath held and skin tingling with nervous sweat.

Minggu: _yeah?_

Then — 

Minggu: _you think i’m hot?_

He’s on autopilot now.

Jihoon: _doesn’t everyone?_

Minggu: _but do you?_

Jihoon: _you know the answer to that question_

The next response is not as fast as the others. The extra seconds of waiting has his armpits tingle with more nervous sweat.

Minggu: _no, i don’t_

Minggu: _answer it_

Jihoon: _yes, mingyu._

Jihoon: _thought that was obvious_

Another delayed response. Mingyu is gonna give him a fucking heart attack. Just as he’s about to go back to being responsible and stop acting like a horny weirdo in a study room in the library, Mingyu’s text pops up.

Minggu: _no actually it wasn’t_

Minggu: _think youre hot too_

Minggu: _i keep thinking about that night_

Oh, fuck. What night, Mingyu? There have been way too many nights. All of which Jihoon will never forget.

Jihoon: _which one_

Minggu: _you were using my leg to get off. your moans were so fucking sexy_

Minggu: _wanted you to beg me to take you back to mine_

Minggu: _would’ve carried you right out of there_

Is this man still in the country club bathroom? Is he texting (sexting?) in the middle of the golf course? Is Jihoon getting hard in the study room of the library with Hansol sitting across from him? Will his lab report(s) get done today?

He sits there, staring at the screen for probably five minutes, reading Mingyu’s texts over and over again as if he read them wrong. As if he’s hallucinating and when he blinks the words will morph into something friend-appropriate. Like, _thanks for thinking i look good bro see you monday!_ Or, _you’re hot too im sure you’ll find a girlfriend as soon as you stop wearing black sweats to parties lol_.

But nope. This is where they’re at now. Not kissing or groping or giving one another handies, yeah, but not exactly adhering to boundaries either. Fuck it.

Jihoon: _carried me to yours to do what?_

Despite Jihoon taking much longer to get his fingers to press the keys, Mingyu’s response is fast.

Minggu: _do what i did to kat_

Yeah. Jihoon’s officially hard in a study room in the library. Cool. Go ahead and add this to the highlight reel of Lee Jihoon’s Worst Decisions.

Jihoon: _we gotta stop. im in public._

Minggu: _you’re turned on? you want that too? your shirt in your mouth while i fuck you?_

Stop, Lee Jihoon _._

Jihoon: _yes_

And, again, 

Jihoon: _yes_

Fuck. He’s gonna combust. His face is burning hot, knows that means he’s turning red.

Mingyu’s text bubble keeps popping up and going away. Popping up and going way. Finally —

Minggu: _youre right_

Minggu: _we gotta stop_

Minggu: _getting hard while watching them play golf_

Minggu: _see you tomorrow_

Jihoon slams his computer shut, startling Hansol, and gets up to go wash his face with cold water in the bathroom.

* * *

On Sunday, Jihoon and Hansol are back in their reserved study room to get the reports done. As expected, neither finished their work yesterday (for different reasons), so they promised one another it’d get done today. Before nighttime. It has to.

What starts as Jihoon and Hansol ends up with Jihoon, Hansol, Soonyoung, Mingyu, and Chaeyeon all in the study room, taking up every seat but one at the table. Soonyoung had asked where everyone was in the group chat because he has some reading and worksheets he has to do for his economics class; Mingyu, coincidentally, also has some photo editing he needs to complete, and Chaeyeon has to finish a script for one of her acting electives.

So. Yeah. Jihoon is sitting on one side, by the wall, with Hansol and Soonyoung, and Mingyu and Chaeyeon are on the other side. Chaeyeon, mini-celebrity Jung Chaeyeon, her hair in a purposely messy ponytail, strands of hair framing her white face like a halo. Jung Chaeyeon, wearing a denim skirt that rides up when she sits and a shoulderless white blouse. Smelling like roses and looking like a dream.

“Hi,” Chaeyeon says to them, waving as she gets settled into her seat. Her voice is the same, soft flutter. “Thanks for letting me study with you guys.” 

“Hi, Angel,” Soonyoung says, beaming. “C’mon — you’re always welcome to study with us. We’re friends.”

“For sure,” Hansol pulls one noise-canceling earphone from his ear to say to her before putting it back in and getting straight back to work.

Chaeyeon smiles shyly. Then, she picks up her pastel violet backpack and produces some tupperware packed with grapes, strawberries, and blueberries. “I brought some snacks in case someone gets hungry. Help yourselves.” She makes room for it at the center of the table before pulling out her laptop and opening it.

“Thanks,” Jihoon tries. She’s so sweet and he really wishes she weren’t, because maybe the guilt wouldn’t hurt so bad.

Mingyu pulls her in by her waist and presses his mouth to her temple, whispers, “You’re so good,” and okay, yeah, it’s time for Jihoon to put his headphones in and finish these lab reports.

And that’s exactly what he does. Except he’s chronically nosy, so despite the fact that the earbuds are in his ears, he doesn’t turn on any music. Yet. ‘Cause Soonyoung is asking her something and he wants to hear it just incase it’s something else his brain can drive him crazy over.

“So. I heard Mingyu met the parents,” Soonyoung is saying to her. “How was that?”

“Really, really good,” Chaeyeon cheers. “They love him. Not that they’re difficult to please, but… they can be picky.” Mingyu is watching her glossy mouth as she speaks with a smile.

“Everyone loves Mingyu,” Soonyoung says. “He’s a good catch.” He wiggles his eyebrows at Chaeyeon, making her laugh. Mingyu makes a kissy face at Soonyoung.

“Actually,” Chaeyeon starts, shy smile back. She makes eye contact with Mingyu for a second before looking at Soonyoung again. “I met his parents, too.”

This makes Jihoon look up.

“ _Really_?” Soonyoung says. “You didn’t tell us that part,” he looks at Mingyu.

Now Mingyu is looking a little shy. “Over spring break they came to Seoul. It wasn’t, like, an official meeting or anything. They happened to be visiting my uncle and came by to wish me a happy birthday.” He tightens his grip around Chaeyeon’s waist. “I want the real meeting to be over dinner, or something. Y’know. Something more meaningful.”

Mingyu meets Jihoon’s eyes, and every inch of Jihoon’s skin feels so hot, like there’s a furnace inside of his chest that’s melting him from the inside out. Like he’s going to melt into a puddle of embarrassment and shame and — and not the same puddle of shame the night Mingyu told him about Kat and saw his erection making a tent in his boxers. A puddle of shame without the arousal, only with the guilt and. And he’s burning so hot that it hurts. Physically hurts.

And he knows Mingyu can see it. Mingyu knows him too well. 

“Shit’s getting serious, huh?” Jihoon rasps. “That’s great.”

Chaeyeon turns her sweet smile to him. “Crazy, right?”

Mingyu says nothing.

“Crazy,” Jihoon says to Mingyu. “Yeah.” He looks away. He picks up his phone, turns the volume to max, and plays the first song he sees.

* * *

There was no doubt in Mingyu’s mind that after graduation they’d move to the same city. “I didn’t come all the fuckin’ way over here,” Mingyu told him their first year of university, sitting on Jihoon’s queen-sized mattress and watching Yu Yu Hakusho (subs, thank you very much). “For you to go to, I ‘dunno, Seoul and become a hotshot music composer and for me to go back to Busan and rot.”

“Stop,” Jihoon laughed, nudging his shin with his toes. “Watch — _you’re_ going to get a modeling contract or become a hotshot photographer and move to Seoul, and _I’m_ gonna go back to Busan because I’m broke and every entertainment company rejected me.”

Mingyu nudged him back. “Your mom is wrong,” he said, resolute, like he had a crystal ball and could see the future. “You’re definitely gonna make it big and prove her wrong. Watch.”

And Jihoon wanted to believe that were true, but a part of him, in the very back of his mind, told him that his mom had a point. Less than 0.5% of those who want to make a career in the music industry actually see enough success to sustain themselves. It was what spurred him to make physics his major and music composition his minor. A back up plan. Because without back up plans, he was setting himself up for financial ruin.

There was another thing, too. Much like becoming a successful music composer, that same part of his brain told him that he and Mingyu weren’t going to end up in the same city after graduation. Neither wanted to move back to Busan — but how often do things go exactly the way you want them to? Four years of university is a long-ass time, and so much could change in four years.

It hadn’t even been _one_ year of university and things changed. Mingyu’s lips on his, their hands experimentally roaming one another’s bodies, slowly growing accustomed to the parts of each other they’d never seen before. The fiery look in Mingyu’s eye when he looked at him. The way all of Jihoon tingled, down to his soul, when they lied in bed and talked about the future. Their future. Things changed in a single semester.

That’s how fast plans can be disrupted, shifted, abandoned. So Jihoon wants very badly to believe Mingyu the same way Mingyu believes in him, but he can never get himself to. Not _all_ of himself, at least. And as much as he wants to file his post-graduation fears, pile it away with the other fears that he tells himself don’t matter — this one does.

It does matter. Perhaps they all do.

* * *

Jihoon follows Mingyu’s advice. ‘Cause he’s right. If Jihoon puts even a tad bit more effort into himself, he can pull girls. So when the boys say that they want to go out that night, and Mingyu says he can’t go at the time they want to but he may catch them later, Jihoon texts, _i’m so down. let’s see if chan wants to come_. 

They make another group chat and add Chan to it.

heartthrob chan: _YES._

heartthrob chan: _i know a bar we can go that has_ ₩ _2400 shots_

Jeonghanie: _PLEASE not the social venue or any other shithole that lets people smoke indoors_

heartthrob chan: _not a shithole and no indoor smoking lmao._

heartthrob chan: _only cheap drinks and hot girls_

Soonyoung [blonde man emoji]: _you had me at hot girls_

Jeonghanie: _???????????_

Jeonghanie: _nevermind. nothing._

white people call him vernon: _LMAO_

Hǎo Minghao disliked Jeonghanie’s text.

Hǎo Minghao disliked white people call him vernon’s text.

It’s 10 p.m. when the entire crew gets to the bar Chan insisted wasn’t shoddy. And, thankfully, it isn’t; it’s a dark bar, the colorful neon lights hanging from the roof basking the restaurant in their glow. The wooding is a dark oak, the bar stretches down an entire wall, and, as promised, the shots are 2400 won. Jeonghan approves.

Jihoon shows up in a fitted, white tee shirt that says _anti social social club_ in the top left corner and on the back, black skinny jeans with gaping holes at the knees, and a black pair of Vans. It’s more effort than usual, alright, and that’s the best they’re gonna get.

‘They’ being the girls.

Chan, dressed in another all black ensemble and dark eyeshadow, buys the first round of shots when they go up to the bar, and everyone clinks their glasses together before backing it and sucking on their lime wedges.

“Y’know,” Hansol says, face twisting as he stares into his empty shot glass. “I hate the act of drinking, but I love being drunk.”

“That makes the two of us,” Soonyoung removes his lime wedge from his mouth to say, grimacing.

Jeonghan laughs, puts his shot glass back on the bar counter. “Pussies.”

Chan eyes a petite, long-haired girl that’s sitting up at the bar and flagging the bartender down. “You’re right,” he says, patting Jeonghan’s shoulder as he slips by. “Pussy.” And he’s gone.

Minghao giggles while watching him scurry off. “That kid is something else. I bet he’s gonna tell her he’s in a band.”

All the men twist their heads around to observe, and, sure enough, her face lights up at something he says. Just like that, she’s hooked. They burst into laughter, Soonyoung and Hansol giving Minghao congratulatory shoves. “Told you,” Minghao cheers.

Well. Chan’s got the right idea. Jihoon also breaks away from Hansol, Minghao, Jeonghan, and Soonyoung to slide between two barstools, one empty and the other holding a girl with dyed blonde hair. She looks to have her friends on the other side of her, but they’re talking to one another while she sips her martini and listens.

“Anyone sitting here?” Jihoon asks her, loud enough that he can be heard over the trance music blasting over the bar. She turns her head to acknowledge him, and he points to the empty barstool.

She smiles, her lips painted red. “Now someone is.”

Cute.

Jihoon hops up onto the barstool. He points at her half-full martini glass, asks, “What is that? Is it good?”

She glances at her own drink, then looks at him again. “It’s a peach martini. I like it, but it’s way too expensive for how much gin they give you.”

He nods and pouts his lips like he’s considering it. “It does look pretty small.” Then he looks back into her eyes. “Lee Jihoon, by the way.”

“Cho Yewon,” she returns. Her hair sits at her shoulders, framing her face in gentle waves. And she’s wearing a backless black silk dress that stops a quarter-way down her thighs. She’s definitely cute; thin and petite, Jihoon’s type.

“Want something else?” Jihoon asks as he takes his wallet out of his back pocket with one hand and flags the bartender down with the other. The bartender meets his eyes and makes his way down.

Yewon watches him take his debit card out. “What are you getting?”

“Rum and Coke. I’m a simple man.”

“A rum and Coke, then,” Yewon says. She shifts her knees over so that she’s facing him more than she is her chatting friends. Hook, line, and sinker. “Wanna try it?” She slides her peach martini closer to him.

Jihoon tells the bartender what he wants — “Two rum and Cokes, please,” — says that he doesn’t want to open a tab when he asks, and then tunes back into Yewon. “Sure. I like fruity drinks.” He picks it up and takes a sip from the part of the rim that doesn’t have her red lipstick smudged on it. He smacks his lips. “It is good. How much was it?”

Yewon cringes. “You don’t wanna know.”

“I think I do.”

“Seventeen hundred,” she says while still grimacing.

Yikes. “Big spender,” Jihoon teases.

“I really like peach drinks, okay?” She pretends to be offended for two seconds until she giggles, flashing straight, white teeth.

It’s not too often that Jihoon tries to pick up girls, but — and not to toot his own horn — he’s pretty damn good at it. The shorter you are as a man, the more confidence you have to exude to pull; it’s, like, a fact of life. And Jihoon’s had 10 years to cycle through the 5 stages of grief when he stopped growing in junior high. He likes to think he’s over it now, but sometimes he gets a horrible reminder when he goes out with his tall friends (i.e. Mingyu and Minghao) and is treated like he’s invisible the entire night. That sucks. Big time.

The lesson he learned is that he has to separate himself from his taller friends as soon as they get to the bar or the club to give himself a fighting chance. And to not approach any girl that has to look down at him, heels or not.

Their drinks arrive, Jihoon pays, and then he falls into easy conversation with her. She’s a 21 year old nursing student that goes to the same university he does; she lives off campus with her sister that’s 2 years her senior and also goes to his university; she doesn’t like going to clubs or bars, but it’s one of the few chances she gets to hang out with her friends since they enjoy nightlife.

“They don’t ever wanna do something else? Like movie nights or whatever?” Jihoon asks.

Yewon shakes her head, fringe bouncing across her forehead. “Nope, not really. This is usually what we do for fun.”

“Doesn’t sound like you get much out of it,” Jihoon says. “How good is a friendship if you guys never do something everyone enjoys?”

She doesn’t respond right away. She looks at him for a moment, then somewhere off over his shoulder, thinking. “I,” she says. “I ‘dunno. I guess…” She pauses. “I guess ‘cause I’ve been friends with them for a long time. Since high school. It wasn’t always this way.”

“Can’t go to bars or clubs in high school,” Jihoon quips, and she laughs. “Now’s your chance to find like-minded friends, though. You’re, like a second year?”

“Second, yeah,” Yewon says.

“You have the next, like, three years to branch out.” Jihoon takes a sip of his drink while shrugging. “Just an idea. So you’re not spending the next three years of your college life doing shit you don’t wanna do in your free time.”

Yewon considers this, eyes raising to the roof, and then it seems like she decides on something and nods very slowly. “Didn’t really think of it like that. Three years of no fun.”

He and Yewon get through three drinks in the next hour they chat, scooting closer and closer to one another until she lets him place a hand on her upper thigh, fingertips right under the frayed edge of her dress. When he says something she finds funny she pushes him, only to wrap a hand on the back of his neck and pull him back in; he loses track of how many times she does that, but on the Xth time he takes his chance to nuzzle his nose into her cheek when she pulls him back in.

A breathless giggle escapes her, her hand still on his nape, and he brushes her hair back over her shoulder, exposing the long, thin line of her neck. “You look incredible in that dress,” he slowly moves along her cheek to press his mouth against her ear and say. She giggles again, almost instinctively tilting her head to give him better access to her throat.

Jihoon takes the chance to trail wet kisses on her jaw, behind her ear, down to her throat, his hand on her thigh slowly shifting further up under her dress, massaging down and to the inside of her leg. She’s gasping, letting him do what he wants, and Jihoon’s mind automatically goes into hyperdrive, trying to figure out the best way to ask her to come back to his place without scaring her away. Any wrong move and he can turn her off and have her turning back to her friends; he’s made several wrong moves in the past.

But — a god or gods or higher power must be looking down on him, because Yewon whispers, “Do you live close by?” when his mind leads him down a dead end.

Yes. Fuck yes. This is what he’s needed for a hot minute. To get laid so he doesn’t have to get off on sexting best friends, doesn’t have to fight against his sick desires when best friends slot themselves between his legs. With it out of his system, he can go back to being cool, collected Jihoon, the Jihoon he knows he can be if he wasn’t so sexually frustrated. Wasn’t so sexually frustrated and getting into his feelings over _male_ best friends planning a future with their girlfriends.

Jihoon’s going to get a girlfriend, too. Trust. And this emotionally draining part of his life will come to its logical conclusion. Him, a girl under his arms, with a degree and a career lined up. The idea makes him vibrate with excitement — or that could be the alcohol and the anticipation for what he’s going to do with Yewon tonight, but those tiny details don’t matter.

“I do,” he whispers right against her ear, giving her thigh another squeeze, and she squirms beneath his palm. “I can call an uber.”

He has to send a quick message to his friends that he’s bouncing. It’s only fair, so they don’t think he’s dead in a ditch somewhere. Jihoon pries himself off of her and turns around to look for everyone else under the neon lights and the dark.

He catches Chan standing up near a table with the girl he first spoke to, his tongue down her throat, hand on her ass; Minghao and Soonyoung are in a random corner wrapped around one another, and from Jihoon’s vantage point he can see Soonyoung staring at Minghao’s mouth as he speaks; and.

And he sees Hansol and Jeonghan a few seats down, both of them sitting with their backs to the bar because they’re talking to someone. A tall brunette man in a short-sleeved black tee that clings to every dip and roll of his muscle, his blue jeans looking like they’re painted to his legs, Chelsea boots making him look impossibly taller.

Kim Mingyu.

Hansol and Jeonghan are looking at Mingyu, but Mingyu’s looking at Jihoon.

Fuck.

Jihoon whips back around to face Yewon. He’ll just text them later and say he’s off getting his dick wet; he doesn’t need to go over there. What he needs to do is get the fuck out of here, and fast. “I’ll get the uber,” he says, tries to sound as calm as he was earlier.

Yewon smiles and nods at him. “I need to tell my friends,” she says.

Of course. He has the luxury of disappearing without a trace, but it’s important for her to let someone know exactly where she’s going and what she’s doing. Safety first.

But — _fuck_. Yewon slides out of her seat to go up to her friends that moved from the bar to a table. Leaving Jihoon alone. Phone in hand. Allegedly getting the uber.

Jihoon taps on the app, doesn’t even have to turn around and look to know that Mingyu is walking up and standing behind him. “Kinda busy here,” Jihoon shouts over the music without turning around.

Mingyu, the persistent fucker that he is, grabs Jihoon’s knee and rotates him around to face him. Jihoon fixes him with an annoyed glare. “I said I’m busy, dude, please take a hint.”

“Are you mad at me?” Mingyu asks. Looking stern and handsome with his fringe falling into his almond-shaped eyes. Fuck off, fuck off, fuck off.

It’s not something Jihoon expects him to ask, but, regardless, he’s already decided on his retort before Mingyu spoke. “Weren’t you with Chaeyeon?” he asks. “Why are you here?”

“I said I’d probably meet up with you guys later on,” Mingyu deadpans.

“She doesn’t like it when you go out and drink,” Jihoon says. He can’t help himself. “Does she know where you are?”

“You’re mad.”

Jihoon throws his arms up, mad at the accusation that he’s mad. “Yes, I’m mad, dude. Because I’m trying to get laid and you’re cock-blocking right now. Don’t make me call Chaeyeon and tell her what you’re up to. She’s not gonna like it,” he sing-songs.

Look. He’s being an asshole, he knows. The thing is that he’s sobering up, barely even tipsy in the first place, and picking up girls at bars is a very sensitive science. If he so much as _breathes_ wrong, there goes his golden ticket. And Mingyu has his girlfriend already — he fucks her on a regular basis, he’s certain of that — yet he’s here fucking shit up for him. Looking stern and tall and handsome and Jihoon hates him.

“Jihoon.”

Stern and tall and handsome under the neon lights, each color splaying across his face and making a muddied mess. Red on his nose, green on his forehead, yellow and blue everywhere else. Jaw sharper with how he’s clenching it.

“I’m going home,” Jihoon tells him.

“Let me come with,” Mingyu says. His hand is still on Jihoon’s knee. Yewon has definitely been scared off by now. “I wanna talk to you.”

Jihoon flicks the uber app away without breaking eye contact.

* * *

Surprise, surprise: not much talking happens.

What really happens is that they get to Jihoon’s apartment, kick off their shoes, and Mingyu follows him to his room. And Mingyu sits on the bed and watches Jihoon as he aimlessly tidies up, putting forgotten clothes into the hamper, stacking textbooks and old binders up on his study desk. Then he turns around and looks at Mingyu, who’s still watching him.

“I fucked up again,” Mingyu says. His voice sounds so loud in the silence. “With those texts.”

“I started it this time,” Jihoon says.

“Whoever started it doesn’t matter.”

A pause.

“I’m not mad,” Jihoon says. “Really.”

Mingyu keeps staring. Jihoon is terrified of what his eyes are saying. Mingyu knows what to look for when he wants to. 

“Why are you so far away then?” 

Jihoon shifts his weight from one foot to another. He can hear his heart pounding in his ears. He swallows hard. “Because I know what’ll happen if I go over there.” 

Mingyu sits very still, gaze unfaltering. 

Then, “What’ll happen?” 

Jihoon’s mouth is so dry. There’s nothing left to swallow, but he tries again. Mingyu _has_ to be able to hear his heartbeat now. 

“We’re not good at this,” Jihoon tries. 

A pause. 

“Nothing’s going to happen if you don’t want it to,” Mingyu says, voice lowering, and fuck, don’t do that. Don’t do that. Don’t do that. Jihoon can feel the resolve leaving his body, leaking out of his pores along with a fresh batch of nervous sweat. 

There’s another few-second stare off until Jihoon conjures up enough air to speak. “What are we doing?” 

“Talking.” 

“No, we’re not.” 

One of Mingyu’s eyebrows twitch up. “We’re not talking right now?” 

Jihoon takes a shaky inhale, lets it out through his nose. “If I go over there we’re not gonna talk. Let’s be serious.” 

Mingyu closes his mouth. His hair has that orange glow under the dim light of Jihoon’s bedroom lamp. And when he leans forward, elbows resting on his legs, he looks at Jihoon through his lashes, instantly short-circuiting the useful parts of Jihoon’s brain. Short-circuiting the parts of his brain that tells him this was the worst fucking idea, bringing him here; not only on Chaeyeon’s behalf, but his own, too. He should’ve fought harder. He should’ve snatched his knee away and chased after Yewon. He should’ve called the fucking uber. 

Should’ve, should’ve. 

It’s funny, really. Not in a ha-ha kind of way, but in that dry rhetorical way, like when he saw Soonyoung miserable over Minghao leaving for two weeks. Funny that their friendship has progressed to the point that they can’t even be alone with one another anymore; that the sole act of finding a private place feels illicit, like a betrayal. That as soon as they’re out of watchful eyes every cell in Jihoon’s body screams at him to put his hands in Mingyu’s hair, get his mouth anywhere he can on his skin. He can feel his fingers twitching even now, straining against the strength of his desires. 

_Relax_ , Lee Jihoon. 

“Let’s forget it,” Jihoon says. “We made a mistake.” He doesn’t sound convincing, he knows, but at least he’s _trying_. Trying, trying, trying to be good. 

But Mingyu’s got that maddening, soul-searching gaze, the one that tells Jihoon he can see straight through him. It leaves Jihoon feeling terrifyingly vulnerable; as if he’s standing stark naked on a stage, and everyone’s dissecting him with their eyes. Vulnerable in the same way he felt when Mingyu told everyone in the study room that he met Chaeyeon’s parents and she met his — looking at Jihoon the entire fucking time. Watching, dissecting, telling Jihoon that he knows and he’s always known. 

Mingyu gets up off of the bed. And for a moment Jihoon thinks he’s going to walk over to him; but instead Mingyu says, “Okay. Cool,” in the very same tone he said _‘sup_ when Minghao stood at the threshold of the kitchen and watched them. Unaffected, casual. 

And then he’s leaving Jihoon’s bedroom. 

Jihoon’s feet carry him to the door, where he can look out at Mingyu crossing the living room. “You drove to my place just to turn around and leave?” 

Mingyu slows at the foyer, glancing over his shoulder. “You said there’s nothing to talk about.” 

“I didn’t say that.” 

“You told me to forget it,” Mingyu retorts. “I’m forgetting it.” 

“ _You’re_ mad now?” Jihoon asks, almost incredulous. 

Mingyu turns halfway towards Jihoon to regard him. Jihoon can see his jaw clench and unclench. “I’m not mad,” he says. “You told me to forget it. I’m doing what you want.” 

“Is that what you want?” Jihoon asks, and he feels so fucking pathetic as he asks it, but he can’t fucking stop himself. His brain is fried, leaving only his most primitive desires. “Did you really come here to talk?” 

Nothing is said for what feels like an eternity. But Jihoon keeps his stance, keeps his stare, and waits. He needs Mingyu to talk. To say something. Not to dodge the question like he always does; he’s been dodging questions for years. How is sex with Chaeyeon? _She’s a good Christian girl_ . Do you get off on being watched? Was it worth 0 hours of sleep? _Was it to you?_ Chaeyeon. Is she asking what you’re up to right now? _It can be annoying sometimes, but it’s cool._ Do you really [like preppy clothes]? _What are you trying to say?_ Avoiding, ducking, demanding answers but never supplying any himself. 

So now he needs to speak. 

“Mingyu,” Jihoon says, tone both exasperated and a bit desperate. “I need an answer.” 

Mingyu runs both hands through his hair several times, fringe falling perfectly back into place with each rake. “It was to talk,” he starts, reluctant. “Partly.” 

“What’s the other part, then.” Said like a statement but meant as a question. 

Mingyu’s still reluctant. His lips are parted on unspoken words, one hand continuing to brush his hair back. Jihoon’s heart is going so fast he’s convinced the heart attack is right around the corner. He will go into cardiac arrest and it will be Mingyu’s fault. Death by Unanswered Questions. That, or he’s gonna stop breathing for so long that the respiratory arrest happens first. Or he’ll drown on his own spit. He’s thinking about stupid shit because at least it’s filling the silence inside his head, only to him, as he stands at the entrance to his door and Mingyu at the foyer, the apartment so quiet they can hear the wheels of cars rolling over gravel outside his window. 

“I’m sorry about the texts,” Mingyu’s returning voice shocks Jihoon a little, his shoulders startling. “I went too far. I’m sorry I sent them…” He lets out a breath, his chest falling. “But I meant it. What I said.” 

Oh. Then — oh. _Oh_. It’s so fucking pathetic how fast the blood rushes from Jihoon’s brain and straight to his dick. Not like he’s been using his brain much, anyway. If he were, he would’ve left Mingyu back in the bar. But when has he ever been good at impulse control? The highlight reel of Lee Jihoon’s Worst Decisions exists for a reason: because his peanut brain conjures up an idea that will definitely hurt him in the long run, but since the instant gratification is too tempting he listens to what Peanut Brain convinces him to do. And then he panics later. And then his brain keeps reminding him of it — for years. How Jihoon has lived this long, he doesn’t know. His IQ has to be room temperature — 

“Your turn,” Mingyu says, knocks Jihoon back into reality. “If you were _so_ sure we weren’t gonna talk, then why did you ride back here with me?” 

Right. Jihoon isn’t sure how he didn’t see this coming. Mingyu isn’t an idiot, and Mingyu is also scarily good at reading his mind. Jihoon’s room temperature IQ theory may have some merit here. 

“I,” he starts. Stops. How honest can he be? Mingyu was pretty honest with him. More so than as of recent. “I guess. Um…” 

Fuck. The heart attack is impending. Death by Unanswered Questions has been avoided by the skin of his teeth, but turns out he hasn’t escaped passing out in the middle of his apartment and having to have Mingyu call the ambulance. 

His armpits are tingling with sweat. 

Jihoon has to look anywhere than at Mingyu’s face to say this — so he settles for Mingyu’s feet, which are wearing white socks, and uses the oxygen he has left. “The stupid part of me… it wanted an excuse.” 

“An excuse?” His voice is thin, low. 

Jihoon shrugs a shoulder up. “If you made the first move. Then I’d have an excuse.” 

Thank the moon and the stars, Mingyu doesn’t push for more. The silence that follows is proof enough that he understands Jihoon’s disjointed mess of an explanation. Where they go from here, he has no idea. 

A soft laugh escapes Mingyu, and Jihoon looks up from his feet to regard him. Mingyu’s kinda smiling, but not in a particularly happy way. “Why would _you_ need the excuse?” 

Jihoon lets the question rattle around in the empty space his peanut brain left behind. Thinks, thinks, then the little hairs on his arms stand up when he realizes what Mingyu’s trying to convey. 

The only one single here is Jihoon. No excuse necessary. Ah. 

“Ah,” Jihoon says. 

Well. No excuse needed where relationships are concerned, but that’s not the reason Jihoon needs it. Yeah, because he’s thinking about Mingyu’s taken status and how Chaeyeon would be absolutely heartbroken if she knew, but — and it is selfish, Jihoon will not pretend that it isn’t — he’s afraid of what this means about him. Afraid that he’ll fuck his best friend, and then tomorrow he’ll have to watch best friend tell his girlfriend how much he loves her. And he remembers the way he ached, so deep in his chest, when said best friend discussed the logistics of a perfect way to ‘officially’ ‘properly’ meet his parents with his girlfriend. And he ruminates over what this will say about their status as friends, if this will permanently disrupt their dynamic, the dynamic of the _entire_ friend group. 

What will this say about him? What will he say to himself in the morning? When has he ever been good at delaying gratification? Impulse control? 

“Okay,” Jihoon whispers. Mingyu is watching him, unmoving. “Okay.” 

Jihoon crosses the living room, Mingyu’s eyes following, and — morning grief and regret be damned — he reaches up with both hands, grabs Mingyu by the back of his neck, and drags his head down to lick into his mouth. 

Mingyu is still at first, most likely surprised at the force to Jihoon’s pull — but then he stirs, starts to kiss back, hands coming up to hold Jihoon by his waist; his palms so warm through the thin material of Jihoon’s tee shirt. It makes Jihoon shiver beneath them. 

Mingyu folds himself down a little bit more, changing the angle of the kiss, and hums, satisfied, into Jihoon’s mouth. He pulls Jihoon’s body closer to him; close that Jihoon’s feet stumble onto Mingyu’s, their chests pressed together as best they can be. As they find a rhythm, the kiss becomes filthy, open mouthed and desperate, Mingyu’s hums falling into a groan. 

And Jihoon was already half-mast at the confession, but he’s fully hard now, every groan that Mingyu breathes into his mouth rippling heat right down, low low low in his belly, between his legs. He wants to hear more. He wants to hear Mingyu come undone. He wants to know that Mingyu’s been just as desperate for this, that he’s not the only one. 

Jihoon achieves this when he grabs two fistfuls of Mingyu’s stupidly perfect hair, tight enough to elicit a gasp from Mingyu, then another groan — lower, prolonged. He holds Mingyu there, in the kiss, stealing every noise and trying to leave no ground uncovered before they have to separate. And it’s so fucking good while it lasts; the warmth deep in Jihoon’s abdomen spreads out out out, heating his skin, relaxing his limbs. 

When Jihoon breaks away, he loosens the fists in Mingyu’s hair and catches his eye. Then they’re staring at one another, flushed red and panting from a single kiss. Mingyu’s eyes are dark, glazed, and he flickers down to Jihoon’s lips and back up into his eyes a couple of times before he says, breathless, “That was my excuse?” 

Jihoon pants a laugh. “Not convincing enough for you?” 

A smile touches Mingyu’s lips, seductive, slow. “No. I need more.” 

Several ideas scurry through Jihoon’s mind, none of which are fast enough for his tastes; too many gaps and lulls between Jihoon’s hands on Mingyu, mouth against his, their bodies flush together, leaves space for Jihoon to talk himself out of it. To second guess and panic and ruin this for him — something that should be ruined, of course, but Jihoon’s not thinking about that right now. Doesn’t _want_ to think about that right now. 

Mingyu chooses for him. One hand wrapped around Jihoon’s forearm, he guides them into the kitchen, presses Jihoon’s back against the counter, and — _oh_ . There’s that saying, ‘life imitates art’ again, maybe, because now they’re in the kitchen and _Kat_ was in the kitchen and what Mingyu told him in bed over a year ago and also those _texts_ , and. But. No. Life is imitating life. Sure, it was a story told from Mingyu’s lips and used as fodder once more through texts, but it happened. Mingyu _actually_ fucked Kat in the kitchen. Her shirt in her mouth. Jihoon’s shirt in his mouth? Up on the counter? Legs spread, with Mingyu slotted between them? 

Jihoon doesn’t know why he’s acting so shellshocked about it; Mingyu _just_ told him the texts were his actual desires. It wasn’t just a fantasy remixed, with Jihoon subbed in for Kat so they could both get off. It’s real. This is real. That’s what’s rattling around inside of Jihoon, making his brain foggy with a sudden burst of arousal, when Mingyu is hurriedly undoing Jihoon’s jeans. And the overwhelming wave of emotion distorted with his racing thoughts stuns Jihoon, has him unable to move or be in the moment. 

Then his jeans and briefs are being shoved down, freeing his hard, already leaking cock — and the cold air that hits the newly-unveiled patch of skin drags Jihoon back to reality, to the fact that this is very, very real, and _Mingyu wasn’t kidding_. He blinks up at Mingyu and opens his mouth to say something — he doesn’t even know what, his body is on autopilot at this point because he’s still kinda reeling — until Mingyu is sinking down. 

Mingyu is sinking down. 

Jihoon’s not looking at Mingyu anymore because he’s gone from Jihoon’s line of vision. Sinking _down_ . Onto his _knees_ . Leaving Jihoon no chance to recover from his first epiphany before Mingyu’s mouth is on his _cock_ . Holy fuck, holy _fuck_ . Jihoon hears himself whimper, feels his knees buckle, watches his hands come down to touch the crown of Mingyu’s head in their confusion. He has no fucking control over his body anymore; his brain is lagging ten seconds behind, and Mingyu isn’t giving him a fucking chance to catch up to what’s happening — because he’s _on his fucking knees_. 

Kim Mingyu is kneeling on the tiles of his kitchen floor, one big hand wrapped around the base of Jihoon’s cock, mouth on his leaking cockhead. Mingyu, brown hair messy from when Jihoon tugged at it, eyes fluttering closed, gives the slit an experimental lick. Another whimper rips from between Jihoon’s lips, and this time a hand musses Mingyu’s hair up again when he grabs a hold of where it’s longer on the back of his head, but not tight enough to prevent Mingyu from moving freely. Just there. _Confused_. 

And Jihoon’s beginning to recognize that what’s occurring before his eyes isn’t an extremely, extremely, (extremely) vivid dream, that he isn’t in a simulation catered to the desires that have been trapped deep in his subconscious. That this _definitely_ isn’t what he did to Kat. Mingyu is taking him further into his mouth, down the thick length of him. His tongue flattens on the underside of Jihoon’s cock as he sinks further — and Jihoon’s much thicker than he is long, so it doesn’t take a concentrated amount of effort for his cockhead to reach Mingyu’s throat. 

“Holy,” Jihoon finally gathers enough brain power to remember that he has a voice. “Mingyu, _fuck_ .” Mingyu hums around him, and Jihoon’s hips grow a mind of their own, reflexively rutting deeper into the heat of Mingyu’s mouth, into his _throat_. He feels Mingyu flutter around him, eliciting another whimper, one that blends into a prolonged moan. Jihoon is gonna pass out. He’s gonna pass out and crumple over Mingyu’s body and the ambulance will have to be called after all. 

Mingyu pulls back to halfway down Jihoon’s length, visibly fighting his gag reflex; but it’s already so messy, spit on his chin, around his mouth, on Jihoon’s _cock_ . New dilemma: Jihoon feels his soul leaving his body. Once Mingyu recovers and begins bobbing his head again, this time using both hands to pin Jihoon’s hips against the counter, Jihoon feels disembodied. Like he’s watching himself get a blowjob from Kim Mingyu in his apartment kitchen, and it’s not him anymore, only his body, but he can still feel the wet, _hot_ hold of Mingyu on him, the way he stops at his head to tongue the slit (and Mingyu is tasting his precum. He _has_ to be. There’s no way to avoid it. Jesus fucking christ.), how he starts _moaning_ , the vibrations making Jihoon’s knees buckle and his entire body shake with waves of pleasure. 

“You’re so — “ Jihoon stutters, then stops. So _good_ . It’s the most inappropriate time to think about it, but when has Jihoon ever thought about the appropriate things at the appropriate times? He thinks of how he and Mingyu never talked about other men they’ve been with. Jihoon assumed that Mingyu’s never touched another man like how he touches Jihoon, ‘cause of course. Mingyu loves women, talks about women all the time, tells Jihoon all his fantasies centered _around_ women. Never men. 

But there’s no way this is Mingyu’s first time giving a blow job. He didn’t hesitate to get to his knees. No falter, no uncertain pull of his eyebrows, simply — bam — one second Jihoon’s looking at him and the next second he’s got Jihoon’s dick down his throat. Speaking of down his throat — Mingyu seems to have worked back up the courage, because after a sharp inhale through his nose, he sinks back down, down, down, his throat opening up and sucking Jihoon’s cock in. 

Oh. Holy _shit_ . It’s a good thing Mingyu had the foresight to press Jihoon to the counter, because he’s lost full function of his legs, leans his weight onto it as he practically _sobs_ . Jihoon can’t shut himself up anymore (never tried, really), blurts, “Mingyu, oh my _god_ ,” his hips fighting Mingyu’s grip to no avail. Then Mingyu’s pulling back to suck at Jihoon’s sensitive head and breathe — before he’s sliding back down _again_. 

Jihoon is officially convinced his soul is never going to come back. He’s gone, 99% chance he’ll end up in hell with the shit he’s done, and it’s Mingyu’s fault. It’s so _wet_ , so noisy, Mingyu’s subdued moans, the filthy sounds when Jihoon hits the back of Mingyu’s throat, the way Mingyu sucks his spit up when he returns to Jihoon’s head. And when Jihoon dares himself to look, he knows he’s gonna come in, like, five seconds; Mingyu’s chin is filthy with his saliva and precum, his lips a deep red, and it’s fucking _pornographic_ how Mingyu looks with his eyes closed, legs spread as he sits back on his haunches, hair a nest from Jihoon’s abuse. Only then does he realize that Mingyu’s removed one hand from Jihoon’s left hip to free his own hard cock and jack himself off. 

_That’s_ why Mingyu’s moaning. Wow. Okay. Jihoon’s orgasm is just about here, and he has the mind to warn Mingyu, cries, “I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come — _gyu_.” This spurs Mingyu to pull off of his cock with an obscene pop, Jihoon whimpering both from the sudden loss of warmth and at the chance to come; Mingyu’s getting up from his knees, and he stops fisting himself to grab Jihoon’s legs and haul him up onto the counters. 

Jihoon goes pliantly, dazed as Mingyu is pulling off Jihoon’s jeans and briefs so quickly it’s like it’s on fire, then slides himself between his bare legs. “Fuck, Jihoon,” Mingyu’s voice is hoarse — Jihoon could fucking come untouched at the realization that _he’s_ the cause for that — when he speaks, and he presses their cocks together, wraps his left hand around both of them as best he can, starts pumping erratically. 

Jihoon registers how cold the granite countertops are against his skin for only a millisecond before he’s burning hot all over, trying to hump up as Mingyu’s fist twists down their lengths. “Good, good, good,” Jihoon’s gasping, clutching onto the edge of the counter with both hands for dear life. Mingyu has one grip under one of Jihoon’s thighs, holding it up and out; Jihoon’s other leg hangs uselessly off. “S’good, so fucking — “ He knocks his head back against the cabinets, doesn’t register the sharp pain in his arousal. 

Mingyu has his wet mouth pressed to the side of Jihoon’s head, into his hair. “Your moans drive me up the fucking wall,” he’s groaning, tightens his hold around their cocks and has them both moan in tandem. “Wanted this forever, wanted you so bad.” 

He can feel his orgasm building up again, can’t get the image of Mingyu jerking himself off while sucking him out of his head, can _only_ think about Mingyu on his knees in his fucking kitchen. Jihoon presses a palm to the back of Mingyu’s neck, curls his fingers and holds Mingyu there, right there, where he can hear the way he’s coming undone from the filthy slide of their dicks. “Wanted my cock in your mouth?” Jihoon pants on an exhale — and he’s there, oh fuck he’s gonna come, the muscles in his abdomen are jumping, all his toes curling in. “Y’wanted me to fuck your throat?” 

Mingyu whimpers, his pumps losing their rhythm in a threat of Mingyu’s own climax reaching him. “Yes, god, yes, wanted that for years, Hoon _— oh_ ,” his words cut short, and Jihoon can feel Mingyu’s body tense between his legs, his hot breath hitching. Then he’s coming, spurts hitting Jihoon’s stomach, where his shirt rode up, spilling onto his own hands and their cocks. It only takes Mingyu twisting his fist around the head of their cocks once more for Jihoon to come next; he shuts his eyes tightly, his mouth falling open on a silent gasp, his entire body going still. 

Jihoon slumps against the cabinets. It’s not very comfortable, but his nerve endings have yet to return from the dead. He can hear their chorus of pants; his legs flop, listless, when Mingyu is no longer holding one up, no longer between them. 

Wow. _Wow_. Despite the fog hanging thick inside his mind, Jihoon returns to the same questions he had earlier: has Mingyu done that before? Where the fuck did that come from? Jihoon isn’t the only man he’s messed around with? Is he in an alternate dimension? In a deep sleep? A coma? 

He confirms that this is very real when he pries his eyes open, recovered enough to regard Mingyu as he uses the paper towel in the kitchen to wipe his hands and face off. Then Mingyu’s walking over to Jihoon, quietly wipes Jihoon’s stomach and everywhere else their come reached. Jihoon watches him clean, says, “Where did you learn to do that?” 

The corner of Mingyu’s mouth quirks up. He looks at Jihoon while wiping his skin clean. “One or two… experiences at parties.” He pauses. “Before I… sometime first year.” 

Before Chaeyeon. 

“Oh.” Jihoon doesn’t know what to say. He wants to ask more, because this is, like, kinda a huge revelation and something Mingyu never thought to tell him, his supposed best friend, but… there’s nothing else to ask. That’s it. Mingyu’s given blowjobs before. “Okay.” 

Mingyu picks up Jihoon’s forgotten jeans and briefs. “Do you mind if I sleep here tonight? Kinda too tired to drive home.” 

“Y’don’t have to ask that question, dude,” Jihoon says. 

Mingyu lets out a clipped laugh, uncertain. “Thanks.” 

The next hour is a blur of them each taking a shower, Mingyu putting on the sleepwear he leaves at Jihoon’s place, and brushing their teeth side by side. It’s an awkward silence, one that turns somewhat comfortable when they’re in Jihoon’s bed and Mingyu tucks Jihoon under his arm, Mingyu’s head turned to breathe into Jihoon’s damp hair. 

Jihoon is tugging at a random string on Mingyu’s white sleep shirt, unable to sleep with so many… _questions_ swimming in his head. This means Mingyu’s bisexual, right? Like, confirmed bisexual? No doubt about it? Which Jihoon knows is a stupid thing to ask, considering the fact that they’ve acted _not_ very straight with one another since third year of high school. But, there’s a Kinsey scale or whatever, right? Originally, Jihoon thought Mingyu was a 1 or 2 or something, leaning far enough towards straight to _be_ straight. What would be the dick sucking quota to move a point closer to 3? Two dicks? Three dicks? How far has Mingyu gone with other men? If he sucked dick “once or twice,” is that sufficient enough to be a 3? Then, where does _Jihoon_ lie? Is he a 3 if the mere thought of Mingyu on his knees has his arousal stirring again? Is he a 3 if he kinda, sorta, maybe, is in — 

“I meant it, by the way,” Mingyu says, soft but not a whisper. 

Jihoon blinks in the dark, leans his head further down the arm tucked under him to look at Mingyu’s profile. “Meant what?” 

He’s close enough to see that Mingyu’s eyes are open. But he’s not looking in Jihoon’s direction; he’s looking up at the ceiling. 

“That I wanted to do that. For years.” 

Mingyu has to be trying to make Jihoon hard again; there’s no other explanation. But Jihoon contains himself as best he can. Jihoon. _Relax_. 

“To me?” 

Jihoon’s head jostles when Mingyu breathes a laugh. “Yeah, to you, dumbass.” 

Right. Jihoon doesn’t know why he asked that. The answer was obvious.

But — something that isn’t so obvious: 

“What does this mean?” Jihoon’s voice falls to a whisper, weak, _scared_ . Something he’s wanted to ask for awhile now, more so at different times in their friendship. When they kissed for the first time, but _not_ for the dare. All the times they kissed. Every time they curled in on one another in bed. Every time they gave each other hand jobs. More and more often the question sat at his lips until it was constant, pervasive. Driving him crazy. Keeping the Don’t Matter thoughts floating around, because it had yet to be answered. 

They’re here. Being honest. So he wants to know. 

Mingyu turns his head to look into Jihoon’s eyes. Then they’re staring at one another. Jihoon has no idea what face he’s wearing right now, probably doesn’t want to know. 

Mingyu leans in, stops when their lips are centimeters apart. Still looking at Jihoon as Jihoon looks at him. 

Then he’s kissing him. So, so gently that Jihoon feels his heart throb in his chest. They’re slow, careful presses that he repeats several times — and Jihoon lies still, lets Mingyu kiss him in a way that’s wholly unfamiliar to them. No desperation, not rushed. Just soft little kisses without tongue, Mingyu increasing the time their lips are together each one. 

Jihoon doesn’t know how many times they do that. His racing mind doesn’t find that detail important to remember. But, after so many cycles, Mingyu does a much longer, firm kiss, carefully rolling on his side towards Jihoon as he does so. Jihoon moves with Mingyu until he’s on his back and Mingyu’s halfway over him. He lets his eyes flutter closed when the kiss turns more sensual, Jihoon now cupping Mingyu’s jaw with one hand, Mingyu using the hand of the arm not holding himself up to thread fingers through Jihoon’s damp hair. 

And. _God_. Jihoon’s heartbeat is thrumming hard and fast in his throat — but it’s not like when he knew they were about to break their promise. Or when they made out and groped one another at Seungcheol’s party. It’s one that hurts in a very different way, that has his body warm up and feel light, floaty, weightless. Mingyu keeps sliding over him, one leg tossing over to bracket Jihoon’s body in between; and Jihoon slowly moves both arms up and around Mingyu’s shoulders, resting. 

They continue to kiss. Over and over. For what feels like forever. Jihoon wants it to be forever. And Mingyu smells like Jihoon’s body wash, Jihoon’s laundry detergent, Jihoon’s lotion. Mingyu’s mouth tastes like Jihoon’s toothpaste. Mingyu. Jihoon’s. 

This is it. What Jihoon keeps telling himself doesn’t matter, because it’s fruitless and silly and too complicated for him to wrap his mind around or accept. Too _real_ . Because everything with Mingyu is supposed to be easy. Everything with Mingyu _has_ been easy; they’re best friends, have been friends for many years now. Before Jeonghan, Hansol, Soonyoung, Minghao. Chaeyeon. So even as the terms of their friendship becomes more and more complicated, Jihoon’s been desperate to ignore it, to push it away and label it Doesn’t Matter with all the other fears and worries. 

Except this one matters. All of it matters. He can pretend like it doesn’t, but it fucking _does_ , and it’ll catch up to him like the rest: his fears of not becoming a music producer; his fears of where he’ll go and what he’ll be post-graduation; his fears of where and who Mingyu will be when this moment of their life passes.

But. 

No. Not _will_ catch up to him; it _has_ caught up to him. Jihoon’s holding Mingyu tighter — like he’ll fall if he lets go — and their lips and tongues slide against one another, deep and passionate, as if they’re going to be worlds away in the morning. The kiss before the goodbye, a promise that they’ll be back together soon. 

Mingyu knew. Knows. He can see it on every inch of Jihoon’s body, he always knew, maybe, because Jihoon wears his every emotion, in subtle ways that only Mingyu can pick up on because they’re best friends and Mingyu’s a Lee Jihoon mind-reader, and, fuck, Mingyu can feel it against his mouth, around his shoulders, saw it all along, the phantom words spoken in how Jihoon is kissing him — the _I love you_. I love you. I love you. 

I love you. 

Mingyu pulls back. They blink in the dark of Jihoon’s bedroom, staring, silent. 

I love you. 

Jihoon’s mouth pulls into a ghost of a smile. Then, in a whisper so low it’s easy to miss, “That’s what this is?” 

Handsome; damp hair hanging down around his face like a halo; stare boring into Jihoon’s eyes, Mingyu returns the smile. “Yeah.”


	2. and another

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jihoon presses his palms to Mingyu’s chest. He slides his hands up, slowly, carefully, as if trying to sedate him. And then he has them hooked around the back of Mingyu’s neck. And then he’s rising up onto his tippy toes as he tugs Mingyu’s head down. And Mingyu is compliant, allows himself to be lowered. And Jihoon’s heart rate is picking up, and it’s getting more difficult to breathe, and, wow, Mingyu isn’t trying. He’s not trying, not a little fucking bit; he’s gonna let this happen, and Jihoon has another day to flitter in purgatory. 
> 
> Another day to pretend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> howdy! 
> 
> yes. hello. i had to make this 3 chapters instead because my outline for this fic meant it needed to be longer than i had planned or wanted. the final (3rd) chapter will be the last. promise. 
> 
> i gotta give a big thanks to V, AKA [halfpastwo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfpastwo/pseuds/halfpastwo), AKA my twin flame for reading this chapter over and giving their love and advice and made me just as excited as she felt about it/my plans. they're a peach and they write beautifully, so if you love gyuhoon please check them out. [heart emoji] 
> 
> hope you guys enjoy this chapter and i appreciate all feedback/kudos. thank you!!

Mingyu leaves a couple of hours later at, 6 a.m, because he has an early morning class that he needs to go home to get ready for. Jihoon’s physics lab isn’t until noon, so he watches sleepily when Mingyu is up and brushing his teeth, as Mingyu pulls his clothes from last night on, as Mingyu preens in the bathroom mirror. He’s halfway awake, the periphery of his vision blurring, when Mingyu leans over the bed and plants a soft kiss to Jihoon’s mouth. “Text you later,” Mingyu whispers against his lips — and then he’s gone.

Jihoon falls back asleep.

* * *

He doesn’t know what to think. This feels a whole lot like what purgatory probably is: not good, but not necessarily bad. Just an empty, white space for Jihoon to ruminate in. The obvious fact is that nothing was accomplished last night. There’s definitely a change, but not a change that feels satisfying. Yes, Jihoon accepts that he made the _conscious_ decision to break the ‘start over’ promise despite the fact that he knew it’ll end up being another Doesn’t Matter experience to toss with all the others. He accepts that he made the conscious decision knowing that in the morning the only thing he’ll feel is regret. Embarrassment. He accepts that this changes absolutely nothing. And he shouldn’t have expected it to, no matter how sweetly they kissed, no matter how big his heart swelled up, no matter how many times he confessed with his eyes and not his voice.

Nothing is going to change, and it’s another pill that Jihoon has to swallow. _Has_ to.

Yet. There’s an irrevocable shift, one that makes the silence from Mingyu hang that much heavier on his chest. It’s totally possible that he’s the only one that feels it.

Jihoon gets through his only lab for the day on autopilot. By the time 3 p.m. rolls around, his phone is buzzing like crazy in the pocket of his sweatpants, and he’s standing in the student union, on the way to the dining hall, when he fishes it out and checks the screen. Several text messages in the group chat.

Hǎo Minghao: _hey losers. study date at my place. 6pm. jeonghan already said he’s coming so you must, too. thanks_.

white people call him vernon: _what if i dont have anything to study? lmao_

Minggu: _ooo i’m in. i’ll bring some study snacks. aka doritos lol._

Minggu: _you gotta come anyway hansol c’mon. where’s that team spirit?_

Jeonhangie: _right! even mingyu, the man that’s practically glued to chae’s fucking hip, is coming. i’ll find something for you to do_

The texts continue to pop up on Jihoon’s screen as he reads.

white people call him vernon: _fine FINE. better be something good to do or else i’m gonna be bored as fuck_

Hǎo Minghao: _i say “study” date very loosely. more like homework date. a date._

Hǎo Minghao: _just come LMAO_

Soonyoung [blonde man emoji]: _A date? we gonna have an orgy?_

Jeonghanie: _soonyoung what the fuck_

Jeonghanie: _we’re not like you. and if you and minghao start making out i’m LEAVING_

white people call him vernon: _LOL_

Soonyoung [blonde man emoji]: _homophobe._

Well. Looks like Mingyu’s in. Not ‘attached to Chae’s fucking hip’. Jihoon contemplates in the middle of the union, students squeezing by and around him in a scurry to make it to their next class. Maybe this is what he needs. To orient himself, remind himself that the dynamic has not been disrupted. Probably.

Jihoon thumbs the keyboard.

Jihoon: _sounds like a date kekekekeke_

The dynamic has not been disrupted. They’re sitting on the floor of Minghao and Soonyoung’s living room, in a circle, their notes, computers, and textbooks in front of them. In the center of the circle are the chips Mingyu brought, cans of Coke Minghao had in his fridge, and a roll of paper towel. Mingyu is sitting next to Jihoon, like he’s always done when they’re all together, laughing and talking and acting as he always does. Unaffected, casual Mingyu. Okay.

“I meant to ask,” Hansol says between bites of the dorito chip in his hand. “You came to the bar last night and left literally five minutes later.” He’s looking at Mingyu. This has Soonyoung looking up from the worksheet he’s actually trying to complete; no one else is even bothering to study.

“Oh,” Mingyu starts. If he’s feeling nervous or uncomfortable with the question (a question that wasn’t asked, but is heavily implied), he doesn’t show it. “Jihoon said he was about to head home, and I wasn’t really feeling it. So I followed him back to his.”

That’s what they’re going with. Okay — Jihoon’s pretty damn good at playing along with Mingyu’s antics by now, and vice versa. “Yeah,” Jihoon says. “The chick I was talking to ditched and I was getting sleepy, so I called an uber.” He punctuates it with as casual a shrug he can muster with the nerves making his arms quiver.

Hansol nods, slow, and pops another chip into his mouth.

Too easy.

“How did the night go, though?” Mingyu asks. He’s sitting with his legs folded, his hands stretched behind him to hold himself up. “Chan get his dick wet?”

Jeonghan rolls his eyes. “Dude, the girl he was sucking faces with was hooked the second he told her about his fucking screamo band. Of course he got his dick wet.”

“ _Not_ screamo,” Mingyu retorts.

Another eye roll from Jeonghan. “Basically screamo. He screams sometimes.”

“Speaking of sucking faces,” Jihoon says. Fuck it; he stops pretending to do the lab report he’s been working on and looks between Minghao and Soonyoung. “These two Dating but Not Exclusive lovebirds were in a corner making out, like, the entire time I was there.”

Minghao’s face instantly goes red. “Creep,” he accuses. “Voyeuristic creep.”

Yikes. If only Minghao knows how true that insult is. Jihoon and Mingyu meet eyes for a millisecond before they both crack into smiles. Luckily, Hansol and Jeonghan are also smiling and laughing their agreement, so it doesn’t come off suspicious.

“Yo,” Hansol laughs behind a fist. “Soonyoung. I thought you were trying to pick up girls? What happened there?”

Soonyoung pouts at his worksheet, squirming shyly. “Look. It’s hard to pick up girls when Ming’s around.”

Jeonghan groans loudly and covers his ears as if he’s heard something illicit. “Alright, enough, new subject, please.” Another chorus of laughs as Minghao, beet red, mimes throwing his textbook at him. “Keep that up and I’ll actually get the fuck out of here.”

“I was answering honestly! You’re way too sensitive,” Soonyoung counters. “I bet you _are_ a homophobe.”

“Not a homophobe. I just don’t wanna hear about my two friends making out. It’s disgusting.”

Hansol snorts, picks up a can of Coke and cracks it open. “You never had friends that were dating before?”

“Clearly not,” Minghao quips and continues to glare at Jeonghan, albeit good-naturedly.

“Yeah, sure, but they never did the whole flirting and making out in front of me thing.” Jeonghan crosses his arms as if protecting himself from the mere thought of it. “You two are very touchy-feely and my brain still can’t process it. Give me time.”

Mingyu laughs, canines bared. “It’s just a kiss, dude, c’mon. Let them have their fun.”

“He’s being dramatic,” Soonyoung says on a pout. “Ignore him. I need to do this stupid fucking homework, anyway, so stop bothering me now.” He returns his focus to his assignment.

Jeonghan keeps murmuring his contempt, but he — with everyone else — follows Soonyoung’s lead and goes back to working. Hansol picks up his phone and scrolls through whatever social media app he’s always on. Instagram, most likely. The silence only lasts a good ten minutes before Hansol’s speaking again.

“Gyu,” he says to his phone, blindly waves a hand in Mingyu’s direction. Mingyu looks up from the photo he’s editing. “How was that country club date you went on? I’m seeing the pictures you put on Instagram.”

“Eh,” Mingyu hums. “It was _nice_. But I felt really out of place. And, dude,” he knocks his head back and groans. “Her friends are cool, but her friends’ boyfriends? I mean it when I say that I could talk to a _wall_ and have a better time.”

Hansol grimaces. “That bad?”

“What were they saying?” Minghao asks, eyebrows raising in curiosity.

“Nothing,” Mingyu deadpans. “Literally nothing. I’d try to joke around and it’s like I never even said anything. They’re all rich and shit and have sticks up their asses.”

“But Chaeyeon’s friends are rich,” Hansol says. “And you like _them_.”

Mingyu shrugs. “I ‘dunno. I guess them being in a public university made them more down to earth or something, because their boyfriends were awful. I never wanna do that again.”

Jeonghan laughs. “Does Chaeyeon like them?”

“No. But she’s scary good at acting like she does.”

“She _is_ an actress,” Soonyoung suggests without looking up from his worksheet.

“True. Thank god for her,” Mingyu says on a sigh. “I followed her around like a baby chick the entire time to get away from those braindead idiots.”

“You’ll be seeing more of them in the future,” Hansol says. “Especially when you two get engaged and married and shit.”

“When?” Mingyu titters. He shifts around a little bit; Jihoon keeps his eyes trained on his own computer screen. “Not even an _if_ we get engaged?”

All of them shoot him an incredulous, deadpan expression. “Mingyu,” Minghao says, tone flat. “C’mon. When.”

“If you’re getting cold feet I will steal that bracelet and sell it,” Jeonghan threatens. “That could pay my rent for _months_.”

“Cold feet,” Mingyu parrots, his turn to look incredulously at him. “How could I get cold feet at something I never said I wanted?”

“You don’t want to get engaged to Angel?” Soonyoung, clearly unable to work with the conversation, pauses to consider him.

Mingyu shifts around again, in search of a comfortable position that doesn’t exist. “I mean, I do. But I’m not thinking about that right now. I wanna graduate and get a job before I pop the question.”

“Are you and Chaeyeon on the same page with that?” Hansol asks. “‘Cause Somi and I sat down and talked about it, like, a year ago. We both agreed that I’ll propose when. . . “

Jihoon juts a foot out and taps Minghao’s knee. Minghao rips his attention from Hansol to meet his eye. “Hey,” Jihoon says. “You took this lab last year; do you mind if I can see your report? I wanna compare our discussion sections to make sure I didn’t miss anything.” And his ears also need a break from what he’s being made to listen to.

Minghao nods, then thinks for a moment. “Okay,” he says. “If you go into my room and check the bookshelf, I have a binder that says physics 3 on it. All the reports are in order of the weeks.”

Typical for neat-freak, super genius Minghao. “Cool, thanks,” Jihoon says.

“Does Somi wanna come back to Korea?” Jeonghan is asking as Jihoon gets to his feet. “Or you’re going back to America…?”

Hansol doesn’t miss a beat. “Korea. Definitely. We want to be near our parents and siblings.” He pauses to think. “We’ll go to visit a couple times a year, but Korea is where we wanna start a family.”

“Wow, dude,” Soonyoung says. “You’re serious about this.”

Hansol laughs and shakes his head. “Um, yeah, Soonie. I love her.”

“Aww,” Jeonghan teases, pressing both his palms over his heart. “Said like a true romantic.”

Hansol starts saying something, but Jihoon mutes them by closing Minghao’s bedroom door behind him. In the room, the blinds are open, the setting sun pouring in and still bright enough to not have to turn the light on. Temporary freedom.

Jihoon’s gonna enjoy it for as long as it takes for them to move the fuck on.

He pads across Minghao’s freakishly neat room to the freakishly organized bookshelf, eyes scanning the spine of each binder. He’s seen this before, of course, but it’s like looking at it for the first time again; from first year to now, Minghao has his classes lined up perfectly. Some are handwritten notes, some are printed outlines, some are lab reports and papers. And they’re all denoted as such on the spines. Incredible.

It’s no secret that Soonyoung isn’t exactly the cleanest… Jihoon wonders how the hell they co-exist so well. Does Soonyoung adhere to all of Minghao’s rules? Or do they argue everyday and pretend like they haven’t whenever the rest are around? Everything concerning their relationship is one, big enigma to Jihoon. He can’t parse it. Dating, but not exclusive. Single, but not. Friends, but more than friends. A clean freak with a slob. A clash of cultures that they manage to blend so well together. So perfect, yet so confusing.

Jihoon says, as if his own relationships are less complicated.

Whatever. Forget it. He’s here on a mission.

Jihoon tugs the white, physics 3 binder out of its place and flips it open. And because it’s labeled so well, Jihoon finds the lab report quickly. Jihoon unhooks the pages and sets the binder onto the floor to flip through the report. _Wow_ , Jihoon thinks. _Xu Minghao, I have never met someone more attentive to detail than you_. The report is written so thoroughly that it’s ten pages long, filled to the brim with neat, well-designed charts and tables, footnotes, a dissertation of sources, and a discussion section that puts Jihoon’s to shame. It’s a two credit class, for fucks sake, Minghao. This is unnecessary.

Well, this will definitely come to good use regardless. Jihoon holds the stapled papers open to the discussion portion and starts reading it. And. Jihoon knows he needs to reflect on his life decisions when Minghao, the man who learned Korean as a second language, can run laps around any paper he’s written in the past three years. This man is a _monster_.

The bedroom door swings open in the middle of Jihoon’s existential crisis. Has to be Minghao coming to see if Jihoon found what he was looking for. “Dude,” Jihoon blurts, blinking at the lab report. “Your IQ has to be in the 140s or something. This is so good.”

“I’m thinking closer to 100,” a voice that is not Minghao’s says from behind him. “But thanks.”

Mingyu.

Jihoon turns his head around to look at him. Mingyu is letting the door shut behind himself. “Nah,” Jihoon says. “I think in the 80s or 90s. Not wanting to propose definitely knocked a good 10 points off.”

Mingyu chuckles, but not humorously. “What,” he says. “You think it’s stupid to not want to be engaged at 23? _Barely_ 23.”

Jihoon permits his eyes to run down Mingyu’s baby blue blouse, black ankle slacks, Cartier bracelet. The same bracelet he wore last night, knees on the floor, mouth stuffed with cock.

Flickering up to Mingyu’s eyes, he says, “Doesn’t mean you have to marry her right away. The engagement can last as long as you want it to.”

He watches Mingyu walk over to Minghao’s bathroom and push the door open. Flipping the light switch on inside, Mingyu replies, “You want me to propose to her?” He doesn’t bother to close the door when he walks over to the toilet, pulls both seats up, and situates himself to pee in it.

Jihoon returns his attention to the lab report. He scans the words, reading but not registering what’s written. “What I want doesn’t matter.” He can hear the stream of pee hit the toilet water.

“And yet you told me I’d be dumb to not propose now,” Mingyu says over the sound of him pissing. “Make that make sense.”

“Just because I gave my opinion doesn’t mean what I say matters,” Jihoon retorts. He’s been reading the same sentence for the past minute. “It’s gonna happen, anyway. Why prolong the inevitable?”

The toilet flushes. Mingyu puts the seats back down and goes to wash his hands. “I don’t get you.” It’s not said kindly.

Jihoon side-glances at him. “Are you mad?”

“Annoyed,” he admits. He shuts the faucet off and dries his hands on the towel Minghao has hanging on the wall beside the door. “Tired of people telling me to propose. Especially you.”

“Especially me,” Jihoon deadpans. He can feel his own annoyance — with a hint of anger — building within him, but he tries to fight it down. It’s not the time nor place for this. “Fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Mingyu turns the light off and finally looks at Jihoon. The bookshelf is on the wall adjacent to the bathroom, Jihoon still standing in front of it. “I thought you’d understand more than anyone that marriage or proposals or whatever isn’t _close_ to being on my mind. Do you honestly see me, right now, as a husband?”

Jihoon stares silently for a couple of seconds, drinking in the way Mingyu’s cheekbones deepen when he clenches his jaw. “You don’t,” he agrees. “But I didn’t see you as the boyfriend type, either. And yet you’re almost two years deep.”

It’s a retort that quiets Mingyu, just like Jihoon knew it would. There’s nothing smart or clever Mingyu can come back with. Jihoon’s right. Mingyu, fucking girls in kitchens, giving blowjobs at house parties, drinking himself into a stupor… with a girlfriend. If nothing else, Jihoon thought he’d be the one with the girlfriend before Mingyu. Jihoon thought a lot of stupid things. Thought that last night would mean to Mingyu what it means to him.

“I can’t be a boyfriend?” Mingyu asks. He’s speaking quieter now, maintains the volume even as the boys out in the living room are shouting about something. “I’m not who I was at 21, Jihoon. I can be more mature.”

Jihoon can’t muffle the visceral laugh that escapes him. “Mature? Now? The last thing I’d call you _or_ me is mature.”

That statement hangs thick in the air, Mingyu clenching and unclenching his jaw, for an uncomfortable pause.

Finally — “You’re right,” Mingyu says. “I’m not mature. At the moment. But I can try.”

Jihoon’s selfish. He’s long since accepted that, but at least he’s honest: he doesn’t want Mingyu to mature. He wants to hang on to whatever this is, this purgatory, and stretch it out thin thin thin. And he’s not going to get what he wants in the end — he never fucking does — but, much like Mingyu’s feelings towards marriage, he’s desperate to prolong the inevitable. He’s desperate to keep this, amongst so many other experiences, as a Doesn’t Matter for the foreseeable future.

One day it’ll matter, and it’ll hurt like _fuck_ — but today isn’t that day. And hopefully not tomorrow, either.

“Okay,” Jihoon whispers. He crouches down to put the lab report on top of the open binder. “Let’s start right now.”

Then he’s carefully approaching Mingyu. And he can see Mingyu visibly swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing, as he watches Jihoon inch closer. Closer, closer, closer, until he’s standing right in front of Mingyu, blinking up as Mingyu looks down.

“Do the mature thing,” Jihoon whispers to Mingyu’s mouth. He raises his palms to press them against Mingyu’s chest, pauses for just a second to see if he’ll be stopped.

He’s not.

Jihoon presses his palms to Mingyu’s chest. He slides his hands up, slowly, carefully, as if trying to sedate him. And then he has them hooked around the back of Mingyu’s neck. And then he’s rising up onto his tippy toes as he tugs Mingyu’s head down. And Mingyu is compliant, allows himself to be lowered. And Jihoon’s heart rate is picking up, and it’s getting more difficult to breathe, and, wow, Mingyu isn’t trying. He’s not trying, not a little fucking bit; he’s gonna let this happen, and Jihoon has another day to flitter in purgatory.

Another day to pretend.

Jihoon rushes the final few centimeters, presses their mouths together and wastes no time licking into Mingyu’s mouth. They’re kissing. Mingyu’s reciprocating. Mingyu isn’t trying. He’s holding Jihoon by his lower back, pulling him impossibly close, their feet tangling like they did last night.

Jihoon’s breath hitches when Mingyu slides that hand down to palm at his ass.

Another day. Another day. One more.

Those are his final thoughts, the pleas for more time — right before Minghao opens the bedroom door and slides in.

* * *

“Did you find the report?” Minghao is asking as he lets the door bounce on its hinges behind him. “I was a little try-hard when I wrote — “ He stops.

Silence.

Jihoon doesn’t think he’s breathing. Or that his heart is beating. He’s paralyzed in his spot, doesn’t move even as Mingyu springs into action and unwraps himself from Jihoon and steps away, away, away. Then Jihoon’s staring at Minghao staring at them. Staring at Minghao’s expressionless face, at his parted lips, at how he’s frozen to his own spot, also paralyzed.

“Minghao,” Mingyu tries. Jihoon has no fucking idea how Mingyu is able to speak right now. “Fuck.”

Fuck, indeed.

Jihoon can only watch helplessly as Minghao’s soul seems to return to his body; his face flickers through so many expressions that it’s as if he isn’t emoting at all. And the look in Minghao’s eyes — fuck, the look in Minghao’s _eyes_ — the one that reminds Jihoon he has a heart, because it’s fucking breaking, being ripped to shreds by the boring stare of disappointment. Of shock and disappointment. Minghao’s eyes are asking Jihoon who he is, if Minghao’s ever even known who Jihoon is. They’re asking how Jihoon has the _audacity_ or the _capacity_ to do something so reprehensible. 

Those eyes are questioning their entire friendship.

Jihoon could cry. Feels it coming on.

After what must be an eternity, Minghao’s gaze shifts to Mingyu. Same eyes. Same expression. “No way,” Minghao croaks. “No fucking way.”

Yeah. Jihoon’s gonna cry.

Minghao shakes his head, once, twice. Softly, “No way.”

“Minghao,” Mingyu repeats. Again: how Mingyu maintains his ability to speak is a miracle.

But there’s nothing to say. No apologies to give. Speaking is pointless.

Minghao lets it sink in. And as the initial shock fades, he hardens. “Are you serious?”

Neither man speaks. They continue to stare, motionless.

“Wow.” Minghao huffs incredulously, hands going to his hips. He closes his eyes for a few seconds, swallows hard, and then opens them again. “I don’t know what to say.”

Likewise.

“But,” Minghao persists. He sounds like he’s fighting down tears himself — and Jihoon’s heart is officially broken. “This is. This is _shameful_.” Update: his heart has been set on fire. “What the _fuck_? Jihoon? _Mingyu_?”

“Please,” Jihoon’s mouth moves for him, a wounded cry. He doesn’t know why he’s begging, why he’s speaking, just that he is. And he doesn’t stop himself. “Please, Minghao.”

Soonyoung is currently yelling about his schoolwork out in the living room.

Minghao doesn’t budge. He’s stone cold, not the Minghao Jihoon knows. Ironic, considering Jihoon isn’t the Jihoon Minghao knows, either. “It’s not my place to tell,” Minghao’s tone is firm. “But I’m gonna need you two to get the fuck out.” He turns to the door and grabs the handle. Pauses. “Find a reason you to have to leave and go.

Then he’s gone.

And now Jihoon’s highlight reel has the worst highlight of them all.

* * *

The word devastated doesn’t cut it. It’s so much worse, so much more complex. Jihoon is being forced to reflect on his actions, something he’s avoided for almost his entire life, comfortably living behind smoke and mirrors of his own conception. He spends the rest of the night in his bed, staring up at his ceiling and wishing he could not exist for a few months. Like a shame-induced coma that he only awakens from when his brain makes him somebody else. Someone better.

He skips the next day of classes to continue to isolate and reflect, and it is today that his body seems to decide what it wants to do after the twelve hours of shock: he cries. Cries at the fact that he is who he is, and he has to live with himself for as long as he’s conscious. And nothing is more painful than this — suffering not only from the heartbreak of fruitless love, but also the heartbreak of a lost friendship.

Disappointing Minghao is a special type of catastrophic. Because Minghao, more than any person Jihoon knows and will ever know, is honorable. Honorable, faithful, loves and cares deeply. _So fucking deep_. He knows that even if they somehow patch up this mistake (which doesn’t seem very likely in Jihoon’s panicked brain), things will never be the same between them. Jihoon saw it in Minghao’s eyes. He saw himself reflected in them — pathetic, perverted, voyeuristic, immoral.

 _Fuck_.

The group chat continues to go off as usual, text after text popping up on his screen. But the messages are only from Soonyoung, Jeonghan, and Hansol. Mingyu fell off the face of the earth after excusing himself, Jihoon mumbled something to the group about needing to finish his report at home before also falling off the face of the earth — and he’s sure Minghao is still reeling. Going through his own 5 phases of grief, probably, because he’s lost two people he considered his best friends.

Or maybe he’s mourning the fact that he probably never had them as friends in the first place. It was all a three year lie. Because if he knew the things Jihoon and Mingyu had done — not just the group’s car rides while high, or their skateboarding on empty parking decks that clearly states no soliciting, or drinking and smoking and acting like idiots in public places — but everything else. The fact that Jihoon witnessed Chaeyeon getting fucked by Mingyu. That he had no fucking right, but he was the second guy on campus to see the gentle slope of her back, her bare breasts rocking with every thrust, that he heard her moans, those little flutters akin to how she laughs. And the cheating (home wrecking? Can he be a home wrecker if they’re not married? Complicit in cheating, then? An accomplice?), and the drinking and driving, and _so much more_.

Jihoon doesn’t deserve Minghao’s friendship. He knows. And yet, the sad, pathetic, story of his life, he selfishly takes things that don’t belong to him. For that instant gratification, because he has zero impulse control and doesn’t even bother to _try_ to fix this massive character flaw. Instead he compartmentalizes his wrongdoings, separating them from himself much like being disembodied: stepping out of his flesh and watching his body move on autopilot. Watching himself as he moans and willingly spreads his legs for Mingyu’s larger body to fit in between. Then he pretends that those actions aren’t his own, but his body’s. He as his soul and his body as the cage he is at the mercy of.

 _Pathetic_.

He bursts into a fresh batch of tears despite the heavy throbbing of his head, rolls over in bed to face the wall.

* * *

Soonyoung [blonde man emoji]: _heyyy. um. what’s going on? mingyu? jihoon?_

Jeonghanie: _yeah where tf is everyone? what happened?_

Soonyoung [blonde man emoji]: _i don’t know. minghao is acting weird too._

Soonyoung [blonde man emoji]: _he’s not gonna see these texts because he put the group on silent and whenever i ask him what’s up he gets all quiet_

Jeonghanie: _???? im so confused_

white people call him vernon: _i texted mingyu and the text was never read. so idk. but maybe just wait and see if he’ll open up._

* * *

Soonyoung [blonde man emoji], to Jihoon: _hey dude minghao is being SUPER weird after our study date and i know that you and mingyu left real fast so i wanna know what’s going on. please tell me._

Soonyoung [blonde man emoji], to Jihoon: _the only thing i know is that you 3 left his room and then shit got weird_

Soonyoung [blonde man emoji], to Jihoon: _jihoon please. mingyu is mia and minghao is scaring me and idk what to do_

Soonyoung [blonde man emoji], to Jihoon: _whatever it is it’s ok. please talk to me._

* * *

And yet. Jihoon has accepted that the bridge has been burnt. There’s no rectifying it. But, in some sick way, that idea somewhat empowers him. Because if the bridge has long since perished, what difference does it make if he stomps on its remains? It’s gone, permanently so, and whether he tries to piece the black flecks of wood back together or kicks it into dust, there’s nothing to gain.

Nothing to gain and nothing to lose.

This is what rouses him from his three day Netflix and Cry binge. He still has a mix of feelings — anger, hurt, pain, self-hatred, _lots_ of self-hatred — churning inside of him, but, in true Lee Jihoon fashion, his impulses drag him to Soonyoung and Minghao’s apartment on day four. There’s a lot he wants to say clawing up his esophagus, like his stomach is rejecting what its been given and wants to relieve him of it. And if he doesn’t say it while its fresh on his mind, he may never gather the courage to do so; that’ll be the end of their friend group for good.

Not like he has any hopes that he’ll be welcomed back into the group.

It’s three p.m., and Jihoon knows that this is the time of day that Soonyoung’s in his two-hour lab and that Minghao likes to come back to cook himself some food before his evening lecture. Jihoon allows himself several breaths (inhale… exhale… inhale… exhale…) to steady the quickening pace of his heartbeat. He stares at the door, breathing audibly, and on his fifth exhale he raises a fist and knocks on the door. Once, twice, three times.

He waits.

And Jihoon barely allows Minghao to open the door and register who’s standing on the other side before he blurts, “I fucked up. I know. I fucked up and I kept fucking up and it’s my fault.”

Minghao’s expression shifts from his initial surprise to the same, hardened look he gave Jihoon four days ago. He’s still holding the door handle, blocking Jihoon’s entry, as he deadpans, “If you think that’s going to change anything, it’s not.”

A sharp throb in his chest. He averts his eyes several times before meeting Minghao’s dark gaze and mutters, “I know. But I want to say something… I —I just. I don’t want that to be the last time we talk.”

They have a stare off that feels like five minutes but is realistically thirty seconds. Which is still for-fucking-ever, but Minghao eventually has mercy on his soul and pivots out of the way to grant Jihoon access. Jihoon gives a weak _thank you_ as he steps inside. Minghao, not bothering to respond to that, closes the door with a hard thud and pads back over to the kitchen where he was chopping some vegetables.

Jihoon starts to kick his shoes off, but Minghao’s, “Don’t bother. You won’t be here long,” stops him dead in his tracks. Ouch. Another throb to his chest. He deserves this, he knows, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

“Right,” Jihoon croaks. He slides his foot back into his sandals and reluctantly follows Minghao to the kitchen. He stands safely by the barstools, a divider between him and a cooking Minghao, but doesn’t sit. No need. Apparently he won’t be here long.

He opens his mouth to keep talking, but Minghao beats him to it. Slicing carrots roughly on his chopping board, he says, “You know… I found it very weird when I saw Mingyu meet us at the bar and immediately leave with you. It was weird, and you two looked like you were arguing, but,” — a particularly hard chop, making Jihoon startle when the knife meets the plastic board — “I thought that maybe… I don’t know what I thought. But it makes sense now. You two…” Minghao finally meets Jihoon’s deer-in-headlights stare, his face stern and lips flattening into a straight line.

“Yeah,” Jihoon confirms the implied question, a weak sound. He didn’t come over here to tell more lies. Not anymore. Not with Minghao. “We did.”

Minghao’s eyes flutter shut. Jihoon watches with trepidation as Minghao takes a few breaths, his chest rising and falling with each. Then he meets Jihoon’s gaze again, but this time there’s pain mixing with the anger. If Jihoon had a heart left it would’ve shattered. But instead there’s a fresh throb of pain where it once was.

“Chaeyeon,” Minghao says. His voice is strained now, as if he’s biting back tears. “She’s such a good person… She can’t… _Jihoon_.”

Minghao turns into a blur as Jihoon’s own tears burn his eyes. “I know,” he repeats. “I know. I’m so — I know.” He takes a moment to inhale sharply, urging himself to just let _go_. Say what he’s kept hiding inside of himself for so fucking long. Minghao isn’t Mingyu, but Minghao deserves this. He deserves to know the truth, who Jihoon is, who the man that he thought he knew actually is. “I’m a fucking idiot, Minghao. I thought… I ‘dunno. I kept ignoring it, because I. _Fuck_.” Jihoon wipes at his face, where a tear has slipped loose, and tries again. “I was only thinking about myself. I was only thinking about how I felt. How I feel. And somehow I told myself that — that because I felt how I felt, it was okay. It doesn’t mean — “

“How long?” Minghao interjects.

Jihoon falters. “What?”

“How long have you guys been… how long has it been since Mingyu and Chaeyeon have been together?”

Ah. Jihoon hesitates to wrack his mind. “…Twice. We. We’d been doing this… before. Before her. Stopped when they — you know. Then the first time again was a couple of months ago. Second time was… Sunday night.”

Minghao continues chopping the rest of the carrot, moves on to half of a white onion. He gives a jolt of a nod to say he heard and is processing it. “Before,” he parrots. “So… this entire time?” He meets Jihoon’s eyes again. “How long since I met you two?”

“Kinda sorta started in our last year of high school,” Jihoon says. “Got… more. More physical our first year of university.”

Minghao blinks slowly, another pause to process it, and then returns to chopping. “Wow,” he mutters under his breath. “This whole time.”

Something about that strikes a flame inside of Jihoon, a visceral spark of frustration, anger. “It’s not like you told us, either,” Jihoon tries. “You and Soonyoung. When did you plan to tell us about that?”

“That’s not the same and you know it,” Minghao’s retort is instantaneous. He fixes Jihoon with a look. “Soonyoung doesn’t have a girlfriend, and I’m not _fucking_ him behind her back. How could you do that to Chaeyeon? How the fuck did you think that’s okay to do? If you two like each other then you should’ve _dated_ each other, not betray — “

“It’s not that simple,” Jihoon’s voice rises just enough to eclipse Minghao’s. “It’s not that simple, Minghao. He doesn’t — I just — “ He flounders for words. How does he explain this? How _can_ he say this? 

Before he has an opportunity to sort out the jumbled mess inside his head, Minghao powers on, “So betraying her trust is _more_ simple? Treating her like an afterthought made _more_ sense to you? What the fuck, Jihoon, who _are_ you? I don’t recognize — “

“I love him.” It’s a shout, one that shuts Minghao up. Jihoon breathes in shakily, his entire body shaking without permission, and those words churning in his stomach — the ones he’s wanted to relieve himself of, barf it up so it doesn’t drive him crazy in the recluse of his mind — pours out. “I love him and I’m so damn sure he doesn’t love me and he thinks that this is just us getting each other off, so I never asked for more — I didn’t want to complicate our friendship by telling him and getting fucking rejected and _losing_ him — I just took what I could fucking get — I _always_ took what I could get, and we tried to be good, Minghao. For one and a half years we were _so_ good, but I can’t fucking reject him. I don’t know why, but when he kissed me, I wanted it, so badly, and I let him. I said things that I hoped would get him to kiss me and he _did_ and then shit got worse.

“We promised each other we’d never do it again. But — “ He falters on a sob, and screws his eyes shut tightly to will these stupid emotions away. It’s useless, won’t make Minghao any more sympathetic to his plea. “ — But he talked about meeting the parents, and I got fucking hurt and jealous, and I don’t know _why_ , Minghao, because I’ve known this entire fucking time that this was ju — “

“Jihoon. Jihoon. _Jihoon_.”

The final ‘Jihoon’ quiets him, and without the verbal bile hiding his tears, he bursts into a sob, then another, before he can collect himself.

“That doesn’t make this any better. You think Chaeyeon doesn’t love him?” Minghao asks, incredulous. “Did you _ever_ think about her? She’s our _friend_ , Jihoon. What you’ve done is so fucked up. It’s fucked up to do to anyone, but especially a friend.” He laughs, an unkind huff. “You smiled in her face while you did… did _this_. Wow. I don’t know. I don’t know what to say.”

Jihoon doesn’t either. Not anything that’ll change Minghao’s mind, anyway.

A miserable, prolonged silence follows, Minghao angrily cutting the final chunk of his onion into tiny little squares, going back over the pieces several times until they’re miniscule. He slides it off the chopping board and into a bowl of the other chopped vegetables. Then he crouches down to a cabinet, leaving Jihoon’s blurry field of vision, before he pops back up with a pot. He sets the pot onto the stove and goes to fill a cup with water from the faucet.

“Okay,” Minghao says. His voice is softer now, more tame. Jihoon watches Minghao watch his fingers work on opening a bouillon cube wrapper. “You love him. That’s. New.”

Jihoon still isn’t sure what to say, so he says nothing.

“And you never told him?”

Oh. Jihoon stares dumbly for a moment, mind not processing that Minghao’s moved on from chastising him. Then, “No… but I. I’m pretty sure he knows. Like. He definitely knows.”

Minghao manages to get the wrapper off his cube. He pours the water into the pot and turns the burner on. It clicks a few times before sparking to life. “How are you so sure he knows?”

Jihoon laughs, a wet sound, picking nervously at his nail beds. “He knows me. Way too well. It’s like he can — I ‘dunno,” he laughs again. Still wet. “Like he can read my mind or something.” It sounds stupid saying it aloud.

Minghao watches the water begin to bubble before turning his head to look at Jihoon. “So you’re assuming he knows you love him? Without ever _telling_ him? You should tell him.”

“What good would that do?” Jihoon retorts. “It’s gonna end with me being rejected and him prancing off into the distance with — yeah.” And he’s not sure he can take another rejection. Another loss. He truly may go into cardiac arrest.

“Even that’s better than never hearing how he feels,” Minghao says. “You’re working off a lot of assumptions here.”

“If he felt the same way, we would’ve already been dating. And. And he wouldn’t be dating her right now. But he is. So he doesn’t.”

“You don’t know that,” Minghao maintains eye contact, expression a twist of sympathy and the remnants of anger. “If he thinks you guys are just. Just sex friends or whatever,” he waves a hand around. “Then that could be why you guys never dated. You two obviously don’t fucking communicate, so how is he supposed to know?”

Jihoon sighs. “I told you, Ming — “

“No. I don’t believe that he can read your mind. I don’t believe that through telepathy he somehow knows you love him. Like _in_ love. That’s a huge fucking deal, Jihoon. That’s a bigger deal than… like, knowing what you want to eat without asking or whatever.”

“He _has_ to,” Jihoon insists. He shifts his gaze from his abused nail beds to Minghao, fighting to speak through the growing lump in his throat. “Sunday night, I…” Fuck. _Fuck_. No tears, please, _god_. This is Minghao. Xu Minghao. He owes him the truth. “It wasn’t like all the other times.” Jihoon’s voice falls to a just above a whisper. “We were — he was different. The mood was different. The way we kissed, and. And the way he was staring at me.” _And I, him_. And his soap on Mingyu’s skin. And the smell of his laundry detergent on Mingyu’s clothes. And Mingyu.

Minghao waits a beat. An eyebrow quirking up, he asks, “But did you _tell_ him? Dude. You’ve always been real fucking bad at talking about how you feel. Somebody would do something that pisses you off or upsets you and you’ll pretend like it didn’t hurt you. Sometimes it’s hard to understand what’s going on inside your head.”

Right. As true as that may be, Mingyu is. Was. Maybe it sounds stupid to say aloud because it _is_ stupid. Stupid to assume that Mingyu is a Lee Jihoon mind reader.

“I’m scared,” Jihoon tries before his filter can block it. Before he _lets_ his filter block it. “If it goes wrong, which it will, I lose him. And I’ve already lost you, and I’m gonna lose Hansol and Jeonghan and Soonyoung when _they_ find out, and — and — I’ll have nothing left. It’s my fault, but I don’t want to be alone. Minghao, I —“

“Who says you lost me?”

Jihoon falters. He blinks the fresh swell of tears away to focus in on Minghao’s face. “Huh?”

Minghao exhales audibly, closing his eyes to think. Like how he did when he caught them four days prior. “You fucked up. That’s obvious. You both fucked up. And I’m real fucking mad, and confused, and hurt, a little. But I’m not _gone_ , Jihoon.”

Jihoon’s brain is unable to process what he’s hearing. It’s still caught up on the burnt bridge metaphor, the grief he put himself through over the past 3 days after convincing himself he ruined everything.

Minghao drops the bouillon cube into the now-boiling water, slides the vegetables in, and then addresses Jihoon. “It’s not up to me what you say to the rest. I’ll leave that to you and Mingyu. Just… try to do the right thing. Please.”

The right thing.

“And what happens if my confession goes wrong?” Jihoon hears himself ask.

Minghao shrugs one shoulder up. “I can’t say what the others will do. But I’m here for you if you need to cry it out.”

The metaphor, the grief, his reeling brain stops at once. Okay. Okay, wow. _Really_? Jihoon suddenly needs to cry it out right now immediately. “Really?”

Minghao turns to his pot, eye contact a little too heavy. “Yeah. Let me be mad for another day, but. Yeah.”

Such a fucking good friend. And to think Jihoon nearly lost him over his own stupidity. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have put this at risk? He doesn’t deserve this, but Minghao’s willing to give it. He. Jihoon is short of words. He flounders, watches dumbly as Minghao continues to cook what seems to be soup.

“Minghao.” If the tears in his voice weren’t evident before, they surely are now.

“Yeah, yeah,” Minghao waves a hand behind himself as if willing Jihoon’s next words away. “Let’s not. I need to quickly finish this and eat before my lecture, please.”

He’s not going to lose Minghao. If nobody else, he has Minghao. If it all goes to shit, and he loses every other person he has — Hansol, Soonyoung, Jeonghan, _Mingyu_ — Minghao’s here. Which means Jihoon has something equally as important to do.

“Right,” he says, mostly to himself. He fishes his phone out of his pocket and taps on his hundreds of unread messages.

Jihoon: _can everyone meet at my place tomorrow at 9, please? it’s important._

* * *

Seeing Mingyu again after five days of no contact is like a punch to the gut. Partly painful, partly a breath of fresh air. He’s the last to show up, twenty minutes late, and Jihoon wasn’t even sure that he was coming because he never responded to the text. But Jihoon doesn’t want to say what he has to say without everyone present, so he sat with the rest of the boys in the living room and waited in silence. Soonyoung initially started begging to just be told, the suspense killing him, but Minghao shushed him and insisted things had to be done this way.

It’s twenty minutes of dead silence until Mingyu knocks on the door and Jihoon lets him in. And Jihoon watches quietly as Mingyu doesn’t bother to take his shoes off, just walks across the floor boards in his oxfords, his expression serious.

“Okay,” Jihoon says as he closes the door. He turns around to his friends staring at him in anticipation, Hansol looking worried, Jeonghan looking Extra Worried, Soonyoung nervous, and Minghao resigned. Mingyu stands by the arm of the couch Soonyoung and Minghao are sitting on, blinks at Jihoon with blank eyes. “I’m just gonna say it.”

Soonyoung squirms, thumbnail between his teeth.

If nothing else, he has Minghao. He hasn’t told Minghao what he’s prepared to say, but Minghao knows. He’s the only one here that knows his heart.

“Mingyu and I had sex. Twice in the past 4 months.”

Back to silence. Jihoon’s chest is impossibly tight on his lungs, the pulse in his throat beating so fast it should probably warrant concern. He passes over the stunned expressions to glance at Mingyu, who is now staring hard at his own feet. Jihoon can’t help but notice that Mingyu’s wrists are bare of any jewelry. He looks away.

Minghao leans his head back on the couch and closes his eyes as if trying to process the declaration for the first time.

Soonyoung is the first of the other men to stir. He blinks. Once. Twice. His thumbnail hovering near his lips, he says, “What?”

“It’s not a joke,” Jihoon says. He keeps his eyes steady on the black expanse of his TV where their reflections are distorted. “It shouldn’t have, but it happened. And betraying her trust — everyone’s trust — is the worst thing I could’ve done. I’m sorry.”

The stunned silence returns. So silent, in fact, that Jihoon can hear footsteps and keys jingling outside of his front door. But he continues to wait. It’s out, his most shameful secret, and there’s no going back. Doing the right thing, for once in his life.

Soonyoung shifts his wide eyes to all the other faces in the room — Hansol, who has his eyes closed now; Jeonghan, who mirrors Soonyoung’s expression; Mingyu, whose mouth is twisting in an attempt to hold back words, or tears, or both; and, finally, Minghao, whose head is back up and eyes open, looking at Jihoon in a blend of relief and pervasive disappointment. “What?” Soonyoung repeats again. “But. Angel?” He whips his head to Mingyu. “What about Angel?” Then he’s looking at Jihoon again. A heartbreaking stare of confusion, concern, anguish.

“Twice in the past 4 months, Soonyoung,” Hansol parrots, eyes opening to fix him with a hard look. “You know what that means.”

Jeonghan runs two hands through his hair, frazzling his fringe. “No way. _No way_. You and Mingyu — ?”

“Yeah.” Jihoon feels woozy. He’s sure that’s what Soonyoung feels right now, ten-fold. “I wanted to be honest. That’s what happened. Minghao found out, and we talked about it.”

Soonyoung turns his head to consider Minghao next. “You _knew_? That’s why you were avoiding us? You couldn’t tell me that Angel — “

“That wasn’t my secret to tell, Soonyoung,” Minghao says. “It’s theirs.” He wags a loose finger in Jihoon and Mingyu’s general direction.

“You and Mingyu are _fucking_?” Jeonghan says, louder this time. “First Minghao and Soonyoung, and now Ji —“

“Is that fucking important right now?” Minghao retorts. “Priorities, dude.”

Hansol puts his palms together, pressing the side of both hands to his lips. “I can’t believe this,” he says through them. “Dude. _Mingyu_.”

Now everyone averts their attention to Mingyu, who hasn’t moved a centimeter since the confession.

“I’m not asking for forgiveness,” Jihoon persists, even as all eyes remain on Mingyu. “I just thought that you guys deserved to know, too.”

“Mingyu,” Soonyoung says, still shocked. And then he’s slowly standing up, his ears and face turning a light shade of pink. Jihoon braces himself for tears, sobs, anything, but instead Soonyoung settles into anger. “What the _fuck_ , Mingyu. Angel’s so good to you. How could you do that to her? You — fucking — what the fuck?”

Soonyoung’s words burn as if he’s speaking directly to Jihoon.

But the sound of Mingyu’s voice makes Jihoon’s chest hurt in a very different way. “I know,” he’s mumbling. He meets Soonyoung’s heavy gaze, eyebrows inching together in shame. “She’s so good, Soonyoung, and I…“ He doesn’t finish his thought. _You are, indeed_.

Jihoon feels a little bad for springing this on Mingyu without warning or prepping him first. But something about his disposition when he arrived told Jihoon he already understood what this was going to be.

“Only twice?” Hansol asks. He’s the only one, outside of Minghao, that maintains his composure, voice steady. He’s looking at Jihoon.

“Twice since they’ve been dating,” Jihoon says, low.

“Since they’ve been _dating_?” Jeonghan says, also getting to his feet. “Then how many times since they _haven’t_ been dating?”

Right. He should’ve seen this coming. There’s a lot of things he should’ve seen coming. “I don’t think,” Jihoon starts. Stops to consider his next words. “I can’t count that.”

Jeonghan’s eyes are nearly bulging out of his skull. “More than you can count!? You two have been — and you haven’t — and I didn’t _know_?” He has his hands back in his own hair, grip tight as he rocks side to side while processing it. “You’re _gay_?”

“Why are you so preoccupied with the wrong shit?” Minghao shouts. “Who cares if they’re gay or not; what matters is that Chaeyeon has been wronged, Jeonghan. Fuck, dude.”

“It’s not the ‘wrong shit’,” Jeonghan counters. “They never talked about guys. Like you — and Soonyoung — and — oh my god.” He settles back into his seat.

Soonyoung doesn’t let Jeonghan distract him from his rage. “How could you do this to Angel? How could you? She met your _parents_ , she got you that fucking _bracelet_ , you guys were gonna — “

“Wow,” Hansol breathes. “This is crazy. I guess it kinda makes sense, though. You guys were in the — “

“You are so fucking annoying,” Minghao is shouting at Jeonghan. “Sexuality doesn’t matter. Leave me and Soonyoung out of — “

It’s a disorganized chaos of voices now, everyone either arguing (Soonyoung and Minghao) or yelling (Soonyoung to Mingyu) or voicing their inner monologue (Hansol). And Jihoon isn’t sure if he should quiet them so they can resume the group discussion, or to just let them carry on and feel how they feel.

He doesn’t get the chance to make up his mind before Mingyu pipes up.

“I’ll tell her,” Mingyu yells. His loud voice shuts everyone up immediately. They turn to look at him. “I’m going to tell her, and I’m going to break up with her.” Jihoon knows Mingyu deserves this, he knows they’ve _both_ done shameful things, but the pain on Mingyu’s face rips Jihoon apart nonetheless. “It’s what I should’ve done the first time I… the first time I cheated.”

Again: silence.

Then, “Damn right you should’ve,” Soonyoung spits. “ _Why_ , Gyu? Because she’s not good enough in bed for you? If you didn’t want to be with a religious girl, then why would you date her for this long?”

“It’s not that,” Mingyu tries. For the first time since arriving, he meets Jihoon’s eyes. Jihoon’s heart (what’s left of it, anyway) skips a beat. “That was never it. I just. I’m not — “

“Whatever the reason may be,” Minghao interjects. “The fact is that it happened.” Mingyu turns to Minghao, who is now looking at him. “Mingyu. You can’t tell her.”

Wait. Jihoon blinks at Minghao. _What_? The other guys match how incredulous Jihoon feels, regarding Minghao like he has two heads.

“What?” Soonyoung gasps. “Mingh —“

“She can’t know,” Minghao insists, resolute in his conviction. “At least, I don’t think it’s a good idea. Think about it.”

“I’m thinking...” Hansol says apprehensively.

“If he tells her he cheated on her with Jihoon, and by some grace of God Chaeyeon wants to work it out… there’s no way Jihoon can be near Mingyu anymore. Or vice versa.”

Ah. True. Jihoon never considered that. And guessing by the rest’s faces, they never considered it, either.

“And if Jihoon can’t be near Mingyu, our… clique or whatever, is basically dead. We won’t be able to juggle hanging out with Mingyu or Jihoon separately, and that’s also way too much fucking work. We’re not divorced parents splitting custody.”

Soonyoung’s pink face is beginning to fade to his natural color. “So… we pretend they never cheated and move on? Minghao. That’s fucked up and so unlike you.”

“I didn’t say that. If Mingyu wants to break up with her, fine. And if he tells her it’s because he cheated, cool. But,” Minghao stops to sigh. “But I don’t think it’s a good idea to say it was Jihoon.”

They ponder this in silence.

“Okay,” Mingyu says in a weak whisper. “I’ll do that.”

“Alright! So since that’s covered,” Jeonghan blurts. “I have more questions.”

Minghao groans, flopping back onto the couch. “Dude, _please_ stop. No questions. This is serious.”

“Shut up! It’s not to you!” Jeonghan blinks at Jihoon, then Mingyu, then back to Jihoon. “Jihoonie. You’re gay?”

Of course, despite the tense conversation, Hansol can’t help but snicker. Soonyoung is still standing and staring off into the distance as if he’s witnessed something traumatic.

“Not gay.” Jihoon humors him. “Not straight either, I guess.”

“That’s the same thing _Soonyoung_ said,” Jeonghan sputters, exasperated. “How long has this been… Hansol — you _better_ not come out next, I swear to fucking god.”

Hansol tries to put his serious face back on, but he loses it again at Jeonghan’s demand. “I won’t,” he giggles. “I’m straight. And faithful. I promise, dude.” Then he falls into another fit of laughter when Jeonghan kicks at his legs and extends a pinky to seal the promise.

“Soonyoungie,” Minghao coos. When Soonyoung turns to him, Minghao makes grabby fingers with his hands. “C’mere, love.” Soonyoung quietly does as he’s told, folding into Minghao’s side as Minghao pulls him close, strokes his hair and whispers something to him.

Jihoon drinks in the scene before him — Hansol and Jeonghan going back and forth about how not-straight this friend group is, Minghao comforting Soonyoung while cuddling on his couch — and… he’s so confused. Like. What? That’s it? That’s what he was panicking over? He texted them prepared to lose them, prepared to only have Minghao to cling to in his grief. But none of his fears came true. Not Minghao breaking ties, not the other guys flinging insults at him before they also broke ties, nothing. He watches the chaos in disbelief, can’t help but feel a tiny bit relieved. It’s not what he deserves, but it’s what he has.

And then he’s looking at Mingyu. The only person that continues to stand as still as a statue, lost in his own inner turmoil.

He wants to say something. Anything.

So he does. Jihoon walks around the perimeter of the living room, stopping beside him. Mingyu doesn’t seem to notice, gaze fixed somewhere in the distance. “Hey,” Jihoon tries. This gets Mingyu to snap out a trance. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you I was gonna do this.”

Mingyu takes a few seconds to comprehend what was said. Finally, “Don’t be,” he says. “After Minghao… walked in. I knew we’d have to.”

Jihoon gives a slow nod, nervously worrying his bottom lip. Then, “Y’know,” he whispers. “You don’t have to. If you don’t want to.” It’s against his own interests, but Jihoon’s done with being selfish (mostly). He promised Minghao he’ll do the right thing. He promised himself, too.

Mingyu seems to understand what’s being insinuated. Running a hand through his hair, he tries for a smile, says, “I can’t do that. Not anymore.” 

Right.

As soon as his next thought comes to mind, Jihoon allows it through his filter; he’s nosy to a fault, nosy in the ways that always ends up hurting him. But this is important to him. This determines what he says and does next, how he chooses to heal. “Do you love her?”

A question he’s never asked before. A question that gives Mingyu pause, clearly not expecting it. He searches Jihoon’s eyes, searching like he always does, in the way that made Jihoon so sure he knew his every thought. The Lee Jihoon mind reader that probably never was.

Mingyu’s lips part, close, part, close. The longer the pause, the more dread fills Jihoon. The more he feels himself coming undone, throat closing up. “Jihoon,” Mingyu starts. “Why?”

And the lack of an answer hurts worse than the confession probably would’ve. Because of _course_ he does. How delusional can Jihoon be? He’s been dating her for almost two years. He met her parents. She met his. The first girlfriend that had Mingyu so head over heels from the moment he met her. Jihoon’s seen that glint in his eyes when he stares at Chaeyeon. Wonder, amazement, love. His hand on her waist, lips against her hair, whispering _you’re so good_ while she does her fluttery laugh. And Jihoon on the other side, the Best Friend.

Only and forever the best friend.

“Nevermind.” The pain is blatant in his tone, he’s sure of it, but at this point he doesn’t care. If Mingyu hears it, he hears it. Jihoon rips his eyes away from Mingyu, settling on where Jeonghan is unabashedly staring at them.

“I just want to know why,” Mingyu is saying, but Jeonghan pipes up at the same time, asks, “Why didn’t you tell us?”

Jihoon pretends he only heard Jeonghan’s question. “Tell you what?”

Jeonghan fixes him with a glare. “Don’t play dumb.”

Jihoon shrugs. “We aren’t — weren’t — like Minghao and Soonyoung. There _actually_ was nothing to say.”

“Sex friends?” Jeonghan asks. Hansol laughs in the spot next to Jeonghan, fist to his mouth.

Déjà vu.

Jihoon ruminates over this. It’s closer to the truth than anything Jeonghan could’ve asked, honestly. And obviously Jihoon had a different idea than Mingyu, a separate reality. A delusional one, perhaps, but Jihoon’s accustomed to living in his own delusions.

Another Doesn’t Matter that does.

“Sure,” Jihoon says.

* * *

Minggu: _hey_

Minggu: _i just need time to sort things out_.

Minggu: _i know im the one that fucked up, but it doesn’t make this any easier. its complicated. idk. i have to think about how im gonna do this without hurting her too bad_

Minggu: _love you hoonie. really. youre stronger than me in so many ways. i dont think i could’ve admitted that to all of them at once the way you did_

Minggu: _sorry_

* * *

Jihoon has to cash in on Minghao’s ‘cry it out’ coupon pretty quickly. As in, two-days-after-the-group-confession quickly, the same day Mingyu broke his post-confession silence with five texts. Five texts that Jihoon read over and over until he felt another wave of tears hitting him so hard he couldn’t even attempt to prevent it. It’s the most he’s cried in _years_ , like. _Years_. The last memory he has of crying was when he got his rejection letters from the entertainment companies he auditioned for. Which was… high school. In the isolation of his own room, muffling his sobs so his parents wouldn’t hear.

So his several-year not-crying record is broken in a flash. He ends up sandwiched between Soonyoung and Minghao in Minghao’s bedroom, watching a Chinese comedy movie with Korean subtitles — AKA, a Chinese comedy movie with Korean subtitles is on, but they’re too busy trying to piece Jihoon’s broken heart back together to pay any attention. Jihoon’s cried himself out before he arrived, so he’s an empty husk of a man when Minghao and Soonyoung get to him, stuffed with takeout black bean noodles and nursing a tension headache.

Soonyoung wasn’t very pleased when Jihoon showed up on his doorstep without warning (well, Minghao was warned via texts, and somehow the message never reached Soonyoung). He wasn’t very pleased to see Jihoon in general, really. Jihoon knows that out of all of them, Soonyoung likes Chaeyeon a lot. _A lot_. They text on and off — something the other boys outside of Mingyu don’t do — and whenever she needs help picking out a gift for Mingyu, or she wants Soonyoung’s advice on a disagreement they had, or other Mingyu-related endeavors, Soonyoung is there to dole out his great Kim Mingyu Wisdom. Other times, it’s mundane conversations about what Soonyoung has been up to and vice versa. It’s easy to like Chaeyeon (duh. Have you seen her? _Spoken_ to her?), but Soonyoung was a little different from them. The nickname Angel was born from him, and it’s practically become her second name. Very cute. Makes the whole situation with ‘Angel’s’ trust being broken even worse.

Which is why Soonyoung took this opportunity to chastise a puffy-eyed, red-faced Jihoon at the doorstep, almost not letting him in until Minghao came out to mediate the argument. Well. The one-sided argument; Jihoon’s so wrung out he isn’t able to argue anymore, let alone talk about how he helped ruin a prospering relationship with his own selfishness. “He gets it,” Minghao had told an equally red-faced Soonyoung, a hand pressed to the small of Soonyoung’s back. “Shame is written all over his face, Soonie. He came to see me.”

“See you,” Soonyoung deadpanned. Minghao ushered Jihoon in without breaking eye contact with Soonyoung and closed the door behind him. “He helped cause this mess and you’re gonna pretend he didn’t?”

“Never said that,” Minghao said slowly, as if trying to placate a wild animal. “I chewed him out when I found them sucking faces in my bedroom, and when he came by to talk to me… and a little during our group discussion, too. But I promised him I was still here for him.”

Jihoon watched the back and forth awkwardly by the foyer, debating whether he should just go back to rot in his apartment. He was clearly not wanted there, and he didn’t want to be the catalyst to Minghao and Soonyoung fighting.

“You’re a great guy and all,” Soonyoung retorted. “But the person that needs the comfort is Angel.”

“I get that. Totally and completely,” Minghao maintained the placating tone, voice going soft. “But Jihoon. He.” He glanced nervously at Jihoon, then returned to Soonyoung. “It’s a complicated situation.”

“I’ll say it, it’s okay,” Jihoon said. He was tired of keeping secrets. From Minghao, from everyone. Soonyoung turned to look at him right as he told him, “It doesn’t make it better, I know, but. But I’m in love with Mingyu.” It felt _so_ weird to say it aloud. He already told Minghao, but he never said Mingyu’s name, only said _I love him_. He never said ‘in’ love, either. It was awkward, made Jihoon feel vulnerable, scared.

Thankfully, Soonyoung’s way more emotional than Minghao. So he let his defenses fall and heard Jihoon out as he retold their history, how he felt, how he’s sure Mingyu knows, how he can’t pretend he isn’t in love anymore. Not with himself or with anyone else. And now he’s sandwiched between Minghao and Soonyoung, trying to allow himself to be calmed by their comfort and sympathy.

Soonyoung gives Jihoon his phone back after reading the texts Mingyu sent him earlier that day. It’s late evening now, the sun hidden behind the horizon and painting the sky with stars. “How do you know he doesn’t love you back, though?”

Jihoon’s lying on his back, fingers laced on his chest. Soonyoung is closest to the wall, lying on his side with his head propped up by one arm, and Minghao is closest to the TV, also on his back, one leg tossed over Jihoon’s to make room for the three of them to fit on the queen-sized mattress.

“He loves her,” Jihoon says. “I asked him if he loved her and he refused to answer. That says everything.” Guessing by the lack of response from either of them, they can’t help but agree. Which makes it hurt more, elicits another throb behind his eyes that has him grimacing. He’s so fucking delusional.

The heartbreak has him thinking so clearly now. It’s like he’s been draped in a three year lie, and now that its been ripped away from him he sees it for what it is: delusions. What Mingyu told him that night — That Night number one hundred, when he saw Mingyu on his knees and between his legs for the first time ever — is extra evidence that he and Jihoon have (had) _very_ different perspectives on their dynamic. Mingyu’s been with men before. Multiple, guessing by his wishy-washy _once or twice_ answer. And that means that Mingyu has no qualms dropping down and sucking cock, as proven by the way he got to work with zero hesitation.

Jihoon was just another fling for him. Another male conquest that he kept in the dark. Because why sneak off to parties and fuck men with the risk of being caught when he has a willing participant at his beck and call? And — _wow_. That’s also why Mingyu had no qualms kissing him for a bet that one time, isn’t it? Mingyu’s learned the ways of fulfilling his (bisexual?) desires, something he _obviously_ felt uncomfortable sharing with even his best friend. Chaeyeon is the woman he loves, and Jihoon is another man, in another dark party, in another quiet place that they capitalize on to hurriedly get each other off.

Jihoon wants to laugh at himself, but he’ll look like he’s going insane if he does. His life is a fucking comedy. This is probably the worst Doesn’t Matter that caught up to him overall: the realization that he was a naïve idiot that pretended like this could’ve ended in his favor, while Mingyu lives his life and dates rich actresses and meets parents in fancy cities. _Wow_.

Minghao turns his head away from the TV screen to look at Jihoon’s anguished profile. “Y’know… sometimes life is really fucking complicated.”

Soonyoung blinks at Minghao, a smirk pulling the corner of his mouth up. “Yeah? Is it now? Incredible, Ming. I had no idea.”

“Shut up, I wasn’t finished!” Minghao juts a long leg out to kick Soonyoung across Jihoon. Soonyoung giggles and shimmies away. “What I’m trying to say,” Minghao looks at Jihoon again. “is that I wanna explain my relationship a little better. Maybe it’ll help.”

This (temporarily) snaps Jihoon out of his internal crisis. “With Soonyoung?”

Minghao nods, bottom lip tucked into his mouth. He releases it to say, “Jeonghan will never get it, I don’t think. That, and he’s not mature enough for this.”

Very true. Jeonghan hadn’t bothered to comment on the whole cheating ordeal; he was too preoccupied with Jihoon and Mingyu’s sexuality to pay attention to anything else. Typical Jeonghan, worrying about the stupidest parts of any situation.

“I love Soonyoung,” Minghao continues. “Like, _in_ love.” His eyes flutter up to watch Soonyoung’s cheeks turn pink.

“You’re so embarrassing,” Soonyoung whines, grabbing a loose pillow to cover his own face.

Jihoon laughs as best he can with no energy and a headache (and jealousy, but they don’t have to hear that). “Thanks, man. Way to rub it in. Really helping me out here.”

“That’s not what I’m trying to do, dude. Like, I’m in love with Soonyoung, but. We — _personally_ — don’t feel like you’re only allowed to be in love with one person. I — _personally_ — believe that you can love multiple people… and Soonyoung feels that same. Right?” He shoots another leg out to nudge Soonyoung out of his cocoon shell of embarrassment.

Soonyoung slides the pillow down just enough to free his eyes. “Yeah,” he agrees, voice muffled. “When we first started dating” — Soonyoung removes the pillow completely when Minghao barks _pillow off, please_ — “I think we were both kinda afraid that the other person would ask them to be exclusive. So we kept dancing around the topic until Minghao opened up first.”

“I told him that I wanted us to see each other,” Minghao says. “But that I couldn’t see monogamy being something I’d try. I was honestly a little surprised when Soonyoung agreed, but. Yeah. Now we’re together, but, like, free to see other people, too.”

Jihoon hesitates. What is Minghao trying to say here? “Are you telling me I should ask Mingyu for an _open relationship_?” He can’t help but sound incredulous.

Minghao giggles, props his upper body up with an elbow. “ _No_ , dude. I’m saying it’s possible to be in love with multiple people. In my opinion, at least.”

Huh. It could be because Jihoon’s brain is dehydrated and therefore sluggish from all the tears he’s shed in the past week, but he’s still struggling to see the point. How is this supposed to make him feel better? Sure, it’s something that’s never crossed Jihoon’s mind before — that there exists options outside of monogamy — and it’s _possible_ that this is true… but. What does this mean for the dilemma he’s gotten himself into, if Minghao _isn’t_ advocating for Jihoon to ask for an open relationship? The last time he checked (which was five minutes ago), Jihoon’s pretty sure he’s in love with one (1) person.

Then. Wait. Is Minghao saying that Jihoon can easily fall in love with another person while still being hung up on Mingyu? That there’s a light at the end of the tunnel that doesn’t include fruitlessly chasing after taken friends? Or… no, no. Minghao can’t be advocating for that. That’s not helpful at all. Minghao has to be saying something else, something like —

“You think it’s possible Mingyu is in love with Chaeyeon _and_ me?” Jihoon blurts. It’s such a strange question to be asking that his ears register it as a foreign language.

But maybe not _that_ foreign, because Minghao is nodding at him, face serious. “Yeah. I don’t think that’s out of the realm of possibility?”

Jihoon frowns up at the ceiling, letting this theory permeate. “I,” he starts. “Okay. Let’s say that’s true.” He meets Minghao’s eyes. “What does that change? He chose her. He wants to be with her. I’m. I’m just…” _The convenient friend_. _The one he could’ve chosen at any time, but didn’t_. His headache throbs behind his eyes, and he grimaces and presses a palm to his temple.

Minghao doesn’t say anything. He watches and waits for Jihoon to find his words. Soonyoung is so silent on the other side of him that Jihoon forgets he’s there until he shifts his body closer to the wall.

Jihoon uses the silence as an opportunity for more verbal diarrhea. “You remember when he met her for the first time? How he couldn’t shut up about her? He’s never been like that before. Not with any other girl he dated — not with _me_. If he loved me more than — “

“Remember before Chaeyeon?” Minghao interrupts, voice steady, an eyebrow quirked up. “When you two were inseparable? That you two were together so much that if I wanted to find you, I’d just go find Mingyu?”

That. That’s not helping. At all. A fresh batch of tears burn Jihoon’s eyes, but he desperately blinks it away, willing those painful memories to go with them. “And?” he tries, a strained croak. “How many times do I have to say that we’re best friends? That’s what we — “

“I consider Jeonghan and Hansol my best friends. Do you see _me_ sticking to them like glue?”

“Different friends have different… things that they do,” Jihoon retorts. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Jihoon.” Minghao fixes him with a stern look. “Everything only recently happened, so I know it’s too fresh. But, like. I think when you’re feeling a little better you should tell him.” Jihoon goes to say something, but Minghao raises a palm, commanding silence. “Ah-ah. Don’t start with the _waaaah he can tell_ bullshit. Be a big boy and say it anyway. See what he has to say.”

“And ruin any chance of being friends again?”

Minghao lets out a heavy sigh. “Hoonie. I don’t wanna be mean. I really don’t. But you’re in love with him. The friendship is already dead.”

Jihoon shoots up in bed. “What are you _talking_ about?”

This doesn’t deter Minghao. “If you’re in love with your friend, whether they love you back or not, the friendship is dead, Jihoon. Think about it.” Minghao pushes himself up to be on eye level with Jihoon. “If they love you back,” he waves a hand the the left. “Then the friendship is dead, because now you guys can advance to the next level or whatever. But, if they _don’t_ love you back,” he waves the same hand to the right. “Then there’s no way you can keep being friends with them. They’re going to get into a relationship eventually, and it’ll hurt too much to watch them move on.”

How is this supposed to be helping again? Jihoon is actually going to breakdown, and this time it’ll be Minghao’s fault. “So it’s all over?” he asks rhetorically, wounded. “Because I’m a fucking idiot?”

“No. You can’t help who you fall in love with.” Minghao presses a gentle palm to Jihoon’s thigh. “But this means that there’s no risk in telling him. It’s up to you, whatever you choose to do. You should think about it. Please.” 

He’s thinking about it, alright. Thinking about how much of a dumb ass he is. The same word keeps floating around inside of him — _delusional_ — knocking against his ribs and making them burn. The friendship is over. It’s over. No way Mingyu loves him back; he’s distressed because he has to break up with Chaeyeon, not because of anything related to Jihoon. Ouch. _Ouch_. Jihoon erroneously believed it was a myth when they said heartbreak can be physically painful. Of course, he’d never been in love before, so it’s not like he had anything to go off of.

But they weren’t lying. It’s true. It fucking hurts. It almost feels like he’s going to have a panic attack at any second, but also that he’s going to pass out and have to be driven to the hospital. Whichever comes first, he kinda hopes it knocks him out so he can stop letting his brain drive him fucking insane. And his brain does, indeed, try to drive him fucking insane: it takes him back on the highlight reel, back to the Wow That Party Was Crazy, Huh? Cheating Edition Version 2, which was more like Wow That Night at The Bar Was Crazy, Huh?, but. Semantics. The night he thought to himself that giving in again could change the dynamic of their friendship, of the entire group’s friendship.

Another truth that he chose to ignore. Because if he and Mingyu can’t be friends anymore, the clique is officially dismantled. Minghao refuses to play divorced parents, but it seems it’s going to come to that; Jihoon won’t be able to hang out with them if Mingyu is around, and vice versa. Jihoon may have to find new friends entirely. For being in love. The worst part of his highlight reel — getting caught in the very same bedroom he’s in right now — isn’t even the worst part. Losing everyone is undoubtedly the worst of it all.

And Jihoon has nobody to blame but himself.

* * *

_That’s what this is?_

_Yeah_.

What the fuck was it? Why didn’t Jihoon push for more? Why does he always take what’s given and nothing else?

 _I’ve wanted to do that for years_.

What — suck his dick? That’s all? Yo, Jihoon is one, big dumbass, that’s for sure. Got played like a fiddle and left out to dry.

Or did he? Mingyu never said he loved him. Mingyu never promised anything more. Jihoon filled in the gaps that Mingyu left behind.

 _Actually_. Nope. _Jihoon_ created the gaps and filled them in; the entire web of delusion was of his own conception. 

_What is this?_

He never answered the question, did he?

* * *

Newest dilemma: Jihoon doesn’t want to sleep on his bed. Yeah. This is how low he’s sunk. Looking at it reminds him of being wrapped up in Mingyu’s embrace, being peppered with kisses and lies. It reminds him of the morning after, when Mingyu pressed a tender kiss to Jihoon’s sleep-slack mouth and promised to text him. The text that never came.

So Jihoon doesn’t want to sleep on his bed. He feels pathetic as fuck sleeping out on his couch for the rest of the week, but it provides the tiniest bit of peace of mind (and he’s pathetic as fuck no matter what he does, anyway).

It’s not like he has a roommate that can judge him for it.

* * *

Thankfully, Operation New Friends is postponed until further notice. It’s only because Mingyu is straight up avoiding them, but — again — it’s a tiny peace of mind that Jihoon needs to exist outside of the constraints of his apartment. Jihoon eats in the dining hall with them, his new allies blocking Jeonghan’s onslaught of questions with dirty looks and pleas to shut up; Hansol is surprisingly very kind to Jihoon, tells him, “We all make mistakes. This is our time to grow as people, ya know?” and. Spoken like a true poet. A cool, easy-going one that wears beanies no matter the season.

In return, Jihoon tries his damndest to not look as miserable as he feels, covering his eye bags (the couch is not comfortable to sleep on. At all. And also he kinda has nightmares now. Another fun addition to the hell that is currently his life) with makeup Soonyoung lends to him. Minghao helps him catch up on the labs he missed, gives Jihoon all the lab reports he’s written to copy from. Yes, he changes the words up, knows the TA would _never_ believe that he uses words like ‘decimate’ or ‘microcosm’. Minghao’s discussion sections are literary _monsters_ for no damn reason.

Jeonghan is mostly unhelpful, but he has his moments. He cracks jokes about moving forward with their plan to jump Mingyu for the bracelet — “If he’s gonna break up with her, might as well profit off of his pain” — and Jihoon finds it kinda funny. Soonyoung doesn’t.

“It’s not only his pain, you jerk,” Soonyoung says, kicking Jeonghan under the table and making him jump. “Chaeyeon suffers, too.”

“Right, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Jeonghan cries, but when Soonyoung gets distracted by something Minghao tells him, he leans towards Jihoon and whispers, “Do you have a spare key to his place? We can break in and take it while he’s in class.” Jihoon can’t help but laugh, shaking his head.

The nights are the hardest. There’s no one to distract him, he has to sleep on his stiff couch, and he’s under the constant threat of a nightmare rousing him from his sleep. The nightmares are the most pathetic addition, in Jihoon’s opinion.

Not in Minghao’s. “It’s normal, dude,” he tells him when Jihoon comes over one evening to do his lab work with him. “When I was still trying exclusive relationships, my boyfriend broke up with me and I was a bigger mess than you, hands down. I _begged_ for him back.” Minghao winces at the thought. “Begged. In public. With strangers watching.”

Jihoon doesn’t realize he’s grimacing until Minghao nods gravely at him and says, “Yeah. I know. Consider yourself lucky with the nightmares. That’ll stop eventually.”

Doesn’t feel very lucky. But Minghao’s words do placate him in the way his ‘can’t be friends anymore’ spiel didn’t. Jihoon sucks it up, lets the nightmares that he never remembers when he wakes up harass him, continues to borrow Soonyoung’s concealer so no one in lecture can see that he’s been sleeping a good 3 hours a night, and refuses to even risk a glance at his bed on the way to the bathroom.

Mingyu’s silence starts to become a dull throb, something Jihoon actively works to ignore, transferring his uncanny ability to pretend that things Don’t Matter into a productive endeavor.

And it works. The tiny steps work. When the next week comes around, there’s a tiny, tiny, tiny, (tiny) little glimmer in Jihoon’s subconscious that tells him he can get past this. Through it. That despite the fact that this is a Does Matter, it doesn’t mean he has to let it swallow him whole. His remaining friends don’t hate him, he’s going to pass his summer classes, and he will be O.K. Okay. Yes.

But — and there’s always a but, huh? —

Jihoon’s debating whether he should burn his mattress and the sheets or not on the way to his 12 o’clock lab when his Hope Glimmer is promptly snuffed. It only takes _one_ curious glance to ruin all his efforts, and Jihoon fucking _hates_ how much of a slave he is to his own emotions. ‘Cause there they are, meandering outside the social arts hall, talking to one another with stern faces: campus king and queen Kim Mingyu and Jung Chaeyeon. Together. Talking.

He stops dead in his tracks. Crowds of students adapt and weave around him with little thought. 

They don’t look particularly happy — but they’re together, more than a week after Mingyu said he was going to break up with her. The only thing that means is that they’re not going to be over. They’re going to try to make it work. Chaeyeon’s not going to move on. Neither is Mingyu.

He loves her.

They’re standing close, but Chaeyeon’s clutching the straps of her violet backpack tightly, lips pulled into a straight line, no hint of a smile. Mingyu has his hands in the pockets of his blue jeans, brown hair as perfect as ever, but expression tired. Tired, stern, sad. The bracelet remains nowhere to be seen. Not like that means anything, because they’re talking to one another a week after Doomsday.

Call him crazy, but this is continued proof that Jihoon’s life is a romcom movie. But without the laughter. Or the romance. Just the part of the film where things go wrong, and that’s how it ends. He gets the flicker of hope that things will get better — _That’s what this is? Yeah. That’s what this is? Yeah. That’s what this is? Yeah._ — and then the script writer snatches it away from him. End scene.

Jihoon lets the hoards of students carry him to the sciences building.

* * *

Soonyoung [blonde man emoji]: _we dont hate you, mingyu. you can come hang out with us._

Soonyoung [blonde man emoji]: _youre a dumbass, but youre our dumbass_

Jeonghanie: _what is this, a disney show? that was corny as fuck, soon_

Soonyoung [blonde man emoji]: _disney wouldn’t use the words ‘dumbass’ you annoying fuck_

white people call him vernon: _this is totally gonna get him to come out of his cave LMAO_

Hǎo Minghao: _he’ll talk eventually. just be patient soonie._

* * *

“Have you talked to Chaeyeon any?”

The look Soonyoung shoots him across the study room table tells Jihoon his sniffing for information is obvious. “Have you talked to _Mingyu_ any?”

Touché. Jihoon lowers his eyes back to his computer screen in defeat. “Okay. Sorry.”

They’re the only two in the study room at the moment, Minghao in class and the other two doing who knows what on a Wednesday evening. Jihoon never bothered to tell anybody about what he saw a couple of days ago; it won’t change anything, and if he has to see Minghao’s pitying expression one more time he’s going to drop out and move back to Busan immediately. There’s only so much a man can take two weeks into piecing himself back together.

Soonyoung furrows his brows at his worksheet, lips parted in concentration. Tapping the tip of his pencil on the paper, he relents and says, “Yeah. I talked to her.”

Soonyoung has Jihoon’s full attention again. “Really? How is she? Is she okay?”

There’s a few-second pause as Soonyoung frowns at him. “Funny how you’re worried about her _now_.”

Ow. He definitely deserves that, but _ow_. Jihoon deflates.

But maybe his pathetic disposition warms Soonyoung up again, because he leans back in his chair and runs a hand through his bleach blonde hair, abandoning his worksheet. “She called me the other day. Asked me if I knew. I told her I didn’t, and that if I did I would’ve told her.”

Ah. So she _was_ told. And has yet to break contact with Mingyu. Yeah, they’re getting back together — if they ever even broke up.

Soonyoung vocalizes before he stops and thinks. “Um,” he says. “She asked me if he told me who it was.” Oh, _fuck_. “I didn’t tell her,” Soonyoung rushes to say at first sight of the panic on Jihoon’s face. “I said he didn’t. I hate lying to Angel, but I promise I didn’t say.”

It’s both a relief to hear and is an extra dose of guilt and pain. She does deserve to know. She deserves the truth, but his friends are prioritizing his comfort over hers — the one that helped cause this mess. He isn’t sure whether to feel thankful or not.

“I asked her what she plans to do,” Soonyoung continues. “And, um. I — I don’t wanna share what she said. It’s too personal.”

Jihoon falters, confused. “You’re not gonna tell me?”

Soonyoung sits back up and retrieves his pencil. “Ask Mingyu if you wanna know more. Chaeyeon’s trust has been ruined enough.” And then he’s putting his headphones in, a blatant sign that the conversation is over.

Double touché. _Now_ Jihoon’s embarrassed that he dared to act incredulous at Soonyoung’s refusal to retell a private conversation. Add that to the guilt and shame.

Soonyoung isn’t going to completely forgive Jihoon for a very long time. And he understands why.

“Sorry,” Jihoon says to no one in particular.

* * *

It sinks in just how tightly he and Mingyu’s lives were woven together when he tries to watch old school anime to cheer himself up and ends up turning it off to cry in the dark. He can’t fucking do anything anymore without being reminded of afternoons spent wrestling for the remote, giggling between kisses, Mingyu’s heavy weight grounding him. Incredible.

Jihoon sits on his carpet, knees to his chest, and wracks his mind for why this hurts _so fucking bad_. It’s not like he and Mingyu were lovers or anything that resembles such. The solitude of his quiet bedroom allows him the rest of the night to sort himself out, unravel all the thoughts that he kept at bay for so many years.

He finds his answer after two hours of falling asleep and waking up to contemplate some more.

Jihoon’s not only mourning unrequited love. He’s mourning the lost of his longest-standing friend, too. It’s so obvious that he feels extra stupid for not even considering it. Fuck. He closes his eyes tightly, begs his brain to shut off so he can go back to sleep before he fucking cries again.

He needs new hobbies.

* * *

Boy’s Night ft. Mingyu turns into simply Boy’s Night. Surprise, surprise. The summer semester is winding down, and thankfully none of the boys have intense finals that they need to prepare for, so they celebrate an end to the grueling five weeks with a Bad Netflix Movies and Beer night. Jihoon tries his best to behave as if he’s Over It. Three weeks have passed since Doomsday, and if he were his friends he’d be annoyed at his constant moping and chronic concealer application. Three weeks is enough time to put on his big boy pants and power through what’s meant to be a fun night with the friends that could’ve abandoned him but didn’t. Be thankful, Jihoon. Be present. You’ve been lucky so far.

Hansol’s coffee table is crowded with chips and beer, some bottles empty, some untouched. They settle on a cheesy action movie after Jeonghan and Soonyoung bickered over whether to watch that or a Korean drama. Jeonghan threatened to leave if they “force him to watch trash catered to teens” and Soonyoung relented when he realized Jeonghan wasn’t bluffing. So cheesy action movie it is.

“I tried texting him, but he never responded,” Soonyoung tells Jihoon as he cuddles up next to him on the couch, a bottle of beer in one hand. And Jihoon can tell Soonyoung’s just trying to be helpful, explain himself as if he’s the reason Mingyu isn’t answering his texts and calls, but — it _hurts_. He’s trying to enjoy himself and ignore the world for at least a few hours, not be reminded of he whom shall not be named.

Jihoon shrugs as casually as he can muster, not removing his eyes from the TV screen. “It’s fine, Soonie. Nothing we can do about it.” He’s kinda proud of himself for sounding so nonchalant.

His face may tell another story, though, because Soonyoung stares at him for a beat longer before leaning his head on his shoulder and cuddling closer. Jihoon’s too tired to shove him off. (And the warmth of another body actually feels kinda nice, considering the last time he was cuddled up with somebody was — yeah.)

Jeonghan and Soonyoung won’t shut the fuck up for the remainder of the film, which annoys the fuck out of Minghao and relaxes Jihoon. Because despite his inner turmoil, everything seems so… normal. Jeonghan is whining about how predictable the plot is, Soonyoung is shrieking that he’s the one that chose this in the first place, Hansol is“watching” the movie while scrolling through Instagram, and Minghao is begging them to stop arguing. Jihoon, as he often is, is silent, watching the chaos unfold around him with a sleepy smile.

If this is his new reality, he doesn’t mind it so much.

* * *

“Are you guys going home before fall semester?” Hansol asks them. They’re in the dining hall, in their favorite corner, cramming food in before their next final. Well, Soonyoung, Jeonghan, and Minghao are cramming food in before their next final. Hansol and Jihoon don’t have finals because they’re in labs, and those don’t have exams. Outside of a ‘final’ lab report. Which Jihoon plans to complete three hours before it’s due tomorrow night.

“Not this time around,” Minghao says. He and Soonyoung are sharing a plate of fries now, Minghao working on his side salad while Soonyoung stuffs his cheeks like the food is running from him. “Soonyoungie’s mom invited me to spend a few weeks with them, so I’ll be in Namyangju.”

Jeonghan doesn’t bother to mask his eye roll. “Shocker. What — you’re gonna ask them permission to propose?” He yelps when Minghao swings a foot into his shin. “Okay! I know! You’re dating-but-not-dating and in-love-but-not-in-love!”

After the chaos dulls, Jihoon absently picks at his sandwich, shrugs. “I think I’m gonna stick around. Don’t feel like going back to Busan.” Being there over spring break was difficult, but manageable; his childhood bedroom reminded him of his years in high school — of watching anime and eating homemade snacks with _him_ — but he could bare it, because it was safe, felt nostalgic, and he does like spending time with his parents. Now, though, he knows he won’t be able to take it. Staying in his apartment is the safest bet for him. Not that his friends need to hear all of that.

“I’ll be here, too,” Hansol offers. “I would’ve flown back to the states to see Somi and some family, but that didn’t work out. I’ll go over winter break.”

“I’m going home,” Jeonghan says, then takes a sip of his black coffee. “I refuse to stay here longer than necessary. This place sucks my soul out of my body.”

Normally, Jihoon would agree with him. Now, remaining near campus feels like a much-needed escape. There’s a very good chance Mingyu will either be going back to Busan or to wherever Chaeyeon will be — Jihoon’s accepted that they’re definitely back together, and Mingyu’s absence means he’s reluctant to relay the news — so Jihoon can be alone to continue to mope and find new coping mechanisms. Maybe new anime to watch. Or now that he knows Hansol will also stick around, he can harass him to play basketball or baseball or enjoy one another’s presence. The sky’s the limit.

Minghao swallows his bite of vinegar-drenched salad. “You can come with us to Namyangju,” he tells Jihoon, voice soft. “His mom would love to have you.”

“Yeah,” Soonyoung says. “The more the merrier! She needs company.”

Jihoon grimaces at them. “As tempting as it sounds to third wheel your vacation-date-thingy, I think I’d rather stay here. But thanks.”

“Not a vacation-date-thingy,” Minghao deadpans. “And you won’t be third wheeling. We’re all friends here. We’ve been hanging out before you guys even found out about… us. This.”

Jeonghan sighs. “ _This_ , yes. The mystery that gets more confusing every semester.”

“I’m good,” Jihoon insists. “Really. But thanks.” He can’t get himself to look Minghao in his face; he can see the worry/pity/insert-other-sad-emotions-here that makes his stomach twist with how vulnerable he feels. And it’s very sweet of Minghao to care about his well-being albeit Jihoon’s pain is of his own doing, but. But it’s not deserved, and Jihoon wants to fucking get over _it_ so he can stop being a party pooper and Minghao can stop staring at him with those eyes every time they’re together. That, or he needs to become a better actor.

Which isn’t even a feasible option, considering the fact that the only actor — _actress_ — he knows would skin him alive if he came to them for help. So that’s dead. (And he’d also really rather not run into her ever again. Ever.) That leaves him with only one choice: man the fuck up.

 _After_ he mopes in his apartment for the rest of the summer. Baby steps.

“If you change your mind, you have my address,” Soonyoung sing-songs. “Free food, free company, _free_ -dom.” He wiggles his eyebrows at Jihoon, as if that can somehow entice him to transfer his pity party to a new location — one where he’ll have a captive audience to watch him pathetically come undone. No thanks.

Jihoon fights to contain his grimace. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Thankfully, the conversation glides along, allowing Jihoon to quietly eat his lunch in peace. “Gonna knock it outta the water?” Hansol is asking Minghao, and a dopey grin spreads across Minghao’s face.

“Is that a rhetorical question?” Minghao retorts. “Of course, dude. _When_ I get my A, I’ll officially have a higher GPA than that annoying piece of shit Jieqiong. I refuse to lose to a chick that minored in _psychology_. Disgusting.”

Soonyoung knocks his head back and laughs. “What’s wrong with psychology?”

“Admit it, Hao,” Hansol says on a smirk. “You have a crush on her. This rivalry feels a whole lot like sexual tension.”

“Minghao is one of _those_ that thinks psychology is a useless degree,” Jeonghan tells Soonyoung, rolling his eyes. “Mr. 3.95GPA over there is too good for the soft sciences.”

Minghao’s eyes flicker between Hansol and Jeonghan as he frowns. “Which dumb ass comment do I address first?”

Soonyoung points at Hansol. “His, please.”

“What? Are you jealous Minghao has a crush on Genius Goddess Jieqiong?” Jeonghan teases. “I thought you weren’t exclusive, Soonie.”

“I’m not fuckin’ jealous. Ming Ming can date whomever.” Soonyoung shrugs, turning his head to look at Minghao as Minghao looks back. “I think they’d be kinda hot together.”

The piece of burger Hansol’s chewing on nearly flies out of his mouth when he bursts into a boisterous laugh.

“ _Please_ stop calling him Ming Ming in front of me,” Jeonghan groans, slumping back in his chair. “I’d almost rather hear about your disgusting kinks than that god awful nickname.”

“Ming Ming, Ming Ming, Ming Ming,” Soonyoung chants at him with a glare. And then he cups Minghao’s jaw and presses a chaste kiss to his lips. “ _Muah_. Asshole.” He cackles and Minghao giggles when Jeonghan lets out a louder groan and shoves his plate of barely-eaten food away from himself. Hansol hasn’t stopped laughing.

Even Jihoon, as destitute as he feels, can’t help but crack a smile at the newest bout of chaos.

Minghao waves a hand around, trying for silence. “Anyway,” he bites through his final giggles. “I don’t wanna fuck Jieqiong. I’m not interested in women sexually.” He pauses. “Or romantically.”

Jeonghan’s eyes nearly bulge out of his eyes. “Wait? But? What about that one party in our —“

“A fluke. Thought I wanted to fuck her because she was really pretty. Turns out that was a big mistake.”

More laughter from Hansol and now Soonyoung.

Jihoon raises a curious eyebrow at this. “So…” he starts. The boys turn their attention to him as he speaks, briefly surprised at the sound of his voice. “Not to be Jeonghan. But you’re… gay?”

“Not to be Jeonghan?” Jeonghan parrots, incredulous. He slaps a dramatized hand to his chest. “Ouch, Jihoonie.”

“Gay, yeah,” Minghao confirms. The blasé shrug he gives Jihoon has him mentally reeling. Because… he says it like he’s revealing his favorite color, or the current season. Not like he’s admitting to a deeply personal and stigmatized part of himself. No one at this table will judge him, of course, but it doesn’t change the fact that even _Jihoon_ spent the past few years of his whirlwind of a university life swallowing down any introspection concerning his sexuality. Actually, Jihoon’s never really thought about it much prior to — well — the final That Night, but he was way more preoccupied with _his_ sexuality than his own. Then Jeonghan forced his hand during the group ‘conference’ and he still didn’t think too deeply about what this means about himself.

And yet, here is the ever-honorable, ever-confident Xu Minghao casually accepting and sharing the vulnerable bits of his psyche. It’s motivating, in a way. A lot about Minghao is motivating.

“Huh.” Jeonghan shoots a side glance at Hansol. “Dude. Remember what we talked about.”

Hansol shakes his head, hiding his grin behind a fist. “I’m straight, Hanie. Very, very straight.”

Soonyoung rolls his eyes so hard it almost looks like they’ll get stuck in his skull. “Sorry we’re too gay for you. If that bothers you so much there are plenty of other people to hang out with.”

“I’m not homophobic, you fuck. Just trying to process what the fuck happened to this group in the past year.”

That’s fair. So much has occurred between them since the beginning of spring semester, and if Jihoon weren’t also involved in the mess, he would’ve been just as discombobulated as Jeonghan. It’s a wonder how Hansol has been absorbing all the revelations as well as he has been. Which — “This doesn’t feel strange to you?” Jihoon asks Hansol, his sandwich officially abandoned (He’s not hungry, anyway. Grief does that to you. Also: nightmares).

“What doesn’t?” Hansol returns, gaze flickering up from his plate to consider Jihoon.

“Like… everything.” Jihoon hesitates, trying to piece his words together delicately. “Minghao and Soonyoung. Me and. Him. I ‘dunno.”

The question quiets the others. Hansol gives an absent nod, taking his time on a fresh bite of burger before he swallows and shrugs a lazy shoulder. “Strange? Not really. I could kinda tell there was something going on between Soonie and Minghao, but it wasn’t my business to pry.”

Jeonghan narrows his eyes at him. “That felt personal.”

“And you and Mingyu?” Hansol continues undeterred. “I felt that, too.” Jihoon’s stomach lurches. Yeah, he’s definitely not hungry. “You two flirted constantly. The only thing that shocked me was Mingyu cheating.”

Silence follows. It’s as if the trance they were in vanished with Hansol’s blunt words, freeing them from their delusions. Mingyu isn’t here. Not because he’s busy being faithful to his girlfriend, but because he _hasn’t_ been faithful to her. Things aren’t the same. Boy’s Night is no longer ft. Mingyu — and maybe permanently so, if Mingyu doesn’t return from his dungeon. Jihoon didn’t think it was possible to deflate any further into his chair, but he manages.

He always manages to sink lower.

“But,” Hansol persists. “Mingyu dating somebody that wasn’t you also shocked me.”

The boys remain silent for an entirely different reason now. As if on cue, all of their eyes shift from Hansol to Jihoon, expressions similar, but with subtle differences. Minghao’s an agonizing mix of his signature pity and sadness; Soonyoung a gentle, sympathetic frown that puffs his full cheeks out; Jeonghan shocked and worried; Hansol steady, calculating. Everyone concerned.

Great. A spotlight is on Jihoon, and its heat coats his skin in nervous sweat. He doesn’t know who to look at; he flashes Minghao what he’s sure is panic, fear, before fixing his gaze on his unopened Coke bottle.

An unused part of his brain registers how the condensation rolling down the plastic in rivulets is ironic.

Jeonghan, committed to his brand, is the first to break the silence. He glances at Hansol, mutters, “You figured this out on your own and didn’t tell anyone?”

Hansol maintains his stare on Jihoon’s downcast face for a few seconds before he returns to his burger. “Like I said,” he says. “I didn’t wanna pry. It’s not my business. I told myself I’d only give my opinion if I was asked.” He rotates the food between both hands to an unbitten section. “And I was asked.”

“How mature of you,” Jeonghan answers dryly. “But I don’t think that’s always the best route. We’re supposed to be best friends; if you feel something, you should speak up.”

Jihoon can feel bile crawling up his esophagus. His stomach won’t stop twisting into knots, armpits won’t stop dampening the sleeve of his black tee shirt.

“What good would _that_ have done?” Minghao retorts. “Dating Chaeyeon was Mingyu’s decision. Hansol confronting them wouldn’t have changed that.”

“It’s not about changing things, dude; it’s about communication.”

“Communicating on shit that isn’t our business?” Minghao says.

“We’re _best_ friends. The same way I expected, y’know, Jihoon and Mingyu to speak up about — whatever they were doing? — is the same way I expected _you_ and Soonyoung to fess up.”

The bile is officially at the back of his throat. Jihoon keeps swallowing it down, but it won’t stop crawling up again. And the way his eyes are blurring and fingers are shaking feels scarily similar to the way his body reacted when he tried to read Chaeyeon’s Instagram caption. Except this time he can’t put his phone face down on the nightstand and will the sickness away with sleep; he’s long since accepted what those emotions meant, and now his friends are discussing it as if he’s not there.

He doesn’t wanna be _here_. Why the fuck does he always do this? Asking questions he doesn’t want the answer to? Fucking _idiot_ , Jihoon.

“Being best friends doesn’t make us entitled to every little personal thing about each other,” Soonyoung is saying when Jihoon’s ears tune back in. “They — _and_ us — had every right to privacy.”

Jeonghan starts to counter this before Hansol raises his voice, effectively shutting him up. “Guys. Please. Not the time.” He puts his burger down and addresses Jihoon again. “Hoonie. This entire situation sucks ass, I know. You made a mistake, yeah, but it was because you and Mingyu were — “

“Please stop.”

Hansol stops.

Jihoon swallows the bile back down, blinking rapidly to chase the tears away. “I get it,” he says. Curse his vocal cords for betraying him, undulating and cracking in his attempt to hold himself together. “A stupid part of me thought we’d date, too.”

There. His truth is out to not just Minghao and Soonyoung, but also Hansol and Jeonghan. He’s ‘doing the right thing’. Whatever that means.

No one answers immediately. They stare, exchanging looks with one another in silent communication.

“Jihoonie.” It’s Minghao, tone gentle in the way that Jihoon hates the most. “You don’t know what the future holds.”

Yeah. He fucking does. He fucking does, because Mingyu fed him lies ( _That’s what this is? Yeah._ ) and Jihoon ate out of the palm of his hand like a fool, and he created and got caught in a trap of his own conception, and he’s miserable and having nightmares and can’t sleep _in his own fucking bed_ because he’s weak and easy and he’ll always and forever be the Best Friend. He’ll forever be the Best Friend that perhaps is the ex-Best Friend as of four weeks ago, and no matter what Minghao or Hansol or Soonyoung or Jeonghan says, Jihoon can see the truth, and it’s because —

“He chose her.”

Before he can listen to them conjure up anymore excuses, Jihoon shoots up, the metal legs of his chair noisily scraping against the flooring, snatches his backpack, and walks away.

* * *

Jihoon: _the silence is fucking killing me_

Jihoon: _i wish you’d say something. fucking anything, dude._

Jihoon: _tell me to fuck off if you need to. or that you can’t be friends anymore. anything_

Jihoon: _but dont leave me in limbo. that’s not fucking fair. it’s been a month and idk what i did to deserve this_

Jihoon: fuck _mingyu. this isn’t fair._

Jihoon: _i literally cannot take this._

Jihoon: _im so mad_.

Jihoon: _i miss you._

* * *

He cannot believe how it physically pains him. He cannot fucking believe they weren’t lying when they said that heartbreak is physical just as much as it is mental. He feels like a broken record, the same incredulity spinning ‘round and ‘round in his head.

In his solitude, summer semester over and his friends scattered, he leaves every text unread, the group chat on silent, _Minggu_ on vibrate.

* * *

Hansol breaks into his apartment.

Well. Not exactly ‘break in’, but he does shove his way inside when Jihoon foolishly opens the door thinking the knock was his postmates guy delivering his noodles and white rice. Lucky asshole, winning entry on a coincidence. Jihoon, too exhausted and listless to fight back, stumbles as Hansol fucking bum rushes him and slams the door shut behind him. He’s quickly kicking off his sandals, a brown bag of food in one hand, black beanie fitted snug on his head. “Delivery,” Hansol shouts, not understanding how ironic that statement is.

But Jihoon’s not in the fucking mood, okay? His hair is a nest of black, the pallor of his face a dramatic contrast to the bags under his eyes that he hasn’t bothered to cover with Soonyoung’s concealer — he isn’t planning to go anywhere anytime soon. His grey night shirt and sweatpants hang off of him, clinging for dear life. “Dude,” Jihoon sighs weakly. “I expected this surprise visit more from Soonie or Jeonghan, not you.”

“Yeah?” Hansol says, padding over to Jihoon’s kitchen. He flicks the light on and deposits the bag of food on the counter. “You’re gonna have to accept their cheap substitute since they’re missing in action. Sorry.” Now that the apartment isn’t blanketed with complete darkness, Hansol looks up at Jihoon, eyes roaming over his pathetic disposition. “Wow, man. You look like shit.”

Jihoon no longer has the energy nor the willpower to maintain his façade. Hansol is the one that broke into his nest of self-pity and misplaced anger. “Really? Didn’t realize,” he deadpans, voice groggy, weak. “You’re just in time for my five o’clock cry session. Congrats.”

Hansol turns back to the bag he brought and starts prying it open from where it’s stapled. “I hope some ice cream can help postpone that cry session, man. Staying holed up in here and not answering your texts isn’t the way to go about this.”

A lecture isn’t what he needs or wants right now. “I thought it was obvious that I wanted to be left the fuck alone,” Jihoon bites out, not bothering to mask the annoyance in his tone. “I’m trying to get over being ignored here, please.”

If Hansol is offended by the hostility, he doesn’t show it. Typical Hansol. “He’s not ignoring you,” he offers, lifting the containers of vanilla and chocolate ice cream out of the bag. “He’s… probably going through a lot, too. Give him more time.”

“He’s ignoring me,” Jihoon repeats, this time firm and slow as if Hansol is hard of hearing. “It was fucking stupid — you don’t need to tell me — but last night I reached out, dude. Many times. He hasn’t answered any of it. I’m being ignored.” He thought he was cried out, but, surprise, he’s wrong as usual — he’s tearing up again, throat closing, and it’s all because Hansol is ruining his no-cry streak. He was at a good 8 hours, thank you very much.

Hansol pries open the chocolate ice cream top. “I wouldn’t call that ignoring,” he tries. “He hasn’t spoken to us, either. I think he needs more time.”

“Needs more time?” Jihoon scoffs. He watches Hansol navigate through his kitchen — his kitchen, _god_ — and crosses his arms tight against his chest. “He could fucking say that, but he hasn’t. ‘I need more time’ takes, like, three seconds to type.”

“Sometimes that’s harder than it seems.”

“Can you _stop_ making excuses for him?” Jihoon’s voice raises without his permission. “Please leave if this is what you came here to say.”

Hansol produces a large spoon and goes to scoop some of the chocolate ice cream out. “That’s not what I came here to say.”

“I don’t want ice cream.” His hunger is effectively gone. What a waste of the 36K he spent on expensive-ass postmates. Thanks, Hansol.

“I do,” Hansol retorts. “And it’ll be here if you change your mind.” He creates himself a little bowl stacked with three scoops, then shoves the containers wherever they can fit in Jihoon’s freezer. “Let’s do something fun, okay? There’s this new superhero movie on Netflix I’ve been meaning to show you.”

Jihoon doesn’t budge from his spot in the living room, vantage point giving him a perfect view of Hansol digging into his dessert. “You’re a little too late for that, man,” he deadpans. “I told you my crying session is overdue.”

This doesn’t throw Hansol off from his annoying mission. “That’s fine,” he says around his mouthful of chocolate. “I can wait here for you to finish, _then_ we can watch the movie. It’s really good.”

Jesus christ. “The session won’t be done until two a.m., when my body usually shuts down on me.”

“I can sleep. We can watch it when you get up in the morning.”

“I won’t be getting up in the morning.”

Hansol raises an eyebrow at him, ghost of a smirk on his wet lips. “What — your crying session puts you in a coma?”

“Yep. If I’m lucky, this next one will kill me.”

Perhaps the joke is taken too far, because Hansol’s humored smile falls instantly. Wonderful. “Jihoon.” He lowers his bowl to his waist, stare unfaltering. “That. You’re thinking about dying?”

Jihoon avoids eye contact, his arms reflexively tightening around himself. “No,” he mutters. “I’m not _that_ dramatic. It’s just a little painful.” Understatement of the year.

Hansol puts his bowl down on the counter so gently it’s like he’s concerned the plastic will shatter if he moves any faster. Jihoon maintains his gaze on a random floorboard, worrying his bottom lip while he listens to Hansol do his slow, casual amble out of the kitchen and over to him. Then his socks-clad feet come into view. “Hey,” he says. A palm presses onto Jihoon’s shoulder, warm and careful and very, very painful. “Sorry, but you don’t have a choice anymore. We’re watching the movie.”

They’re watching the movie. The two men end up leaning against the bed frame, because Jihoon was forced to admit that he didn’t want to sit on the bed for… reasons that will put him into cardiac arrest if he explains. In turn, Hansol manages to peer pressure Jihoon into making himself a bowl of vanilla ice cream, and when his food is delivered, they share the rice and noodles. Well… Jihoon’s appetite is still on hiatus, so it’s mostly Hansol eating and Jihoon trying to pay attention to what’s happening on screen.

This should be fun. It should be fun, and sweet, and relaxing, and any other word that can be used to describe how it feels spending time with a close friend. Hansol shows his love in a way that the other boys don’t; spending quality time, using his actions more than his words, speaking the love language that meshes with Jihoon’s the most. Minghao and Soonyoung express comfort with words, pieces of advice and encouragement. Jeonghan expresses his with cracking jokes and being the ‘comedic relief’. All of which Jihoon’s been flooded with over the past month — once again, despite the fact that Jihoon’s pain is karmic justice. So Jihoon should take what he can fucking get and stop ruining the moment, let Hansol take care of him how he wishes.

Too bad that isn’t how this works. Go ahead and add ‘ungrateful’ to the seemingly endless pile of character flaws.

* * *

Jihoon: _i guess this is your way of saying goodbye._

Jihoon: _that’s your right. but i wanted to say something._

Jihoon: _if you’re back with chaeyeon that’s your right too. no one is gonna be mad at you, mingyu. if she forgives you, they forgive you. stop hiding from them. soonyoung isn’t even mad anymore - he misses you a lot. he won’t shut up about you._

Jihoon: _we don’t have to be friends. if that’s what you want, that’s ok. i get it. i know you knew how i felt, and i guess it scared you off. im sorry. i can accept that. it’s taken me a long time, but i think im ok with that now. i talked to minghao about it and he was right. he’s always right. lol._

Jihoon: _he said no matter what happens next we couldn’t be friends anymore. you and me. took me the entire fucking summer to think about it. i guess you came to the same conclusion earlier than i did_

Jihoon: _so. i would’ve preferred to say this to your face, but it’s ok._

Jihoon: _university life was fucking incredible with you. im glad we were friends. im sorry for what i texted you last time. i was angry. now i get it._

Jihoon: _i love you. in love. but i know you already knew that. im sure you’ve known that for years. maybe before i realized it. lol._

Jihoon: _i don’t know if you’ll even read this. maybe im on silent or you blocked me already. idk. but don’t avoid the others anymore, ok? they didn’t do anything._

Jihoon: _bye. sorry._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my [curious cat](https://curiouscat.me/Woozywooziwoosy) if you wanna scream at me or talk lmao


	3. and especially this one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sleeping in his childhood bedroom doesn’t hurt nearly as much as he thought it would. There’s definitely residual pain — it hasn’t been long enough for Jihoon to say he’s whole again — but not soul crushing. Instead the nostalgia holds down on his throat, constricting his airways. He breathes through his mouth, back on the mattress, eyes on the glow in the dark stars on his ceiling.
> 
> This is the ‘reset’ that he should’ve been doing all along. Not his futile attempts to roll back the clock in hope that feelings could be unfelt, mistakes could be unmade. He may have said his life is a romcom movie in jest, but in reality there’s no movie. There’s no reverse button on a remote. There isn’t even a Lee Jihoon’s Worst Decisions highlight reel. He created them to compartmentalize and numb the emotions he’d been afraid to let himself feel for god knows how long. Since junior high, maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> howdy! 
> 
> wow, friends. it is The End^TM. it's been a whirlwind, i tell ya what. 42K for a single chapter because clearly i hate myself and want to suffer. anyways, im gonna save my dissertation for the end-chapter note! so check it out once youre done reading lmao. 
> 
> HUGE thanks to [halfpastwo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfpastwo/pseuds/halfpastwo) for reading these chapters before i posted them and giving me their suggestions and making fuckin' HILARIOUS commentary. they're a patient, very selfless person and im very thankful for them taking time out of their day to indulge me. i will pay you back ten-fold when you send me your prose to read and cry over. love you so much 
> 
> finally - thanks so much for reading. your comments - no matter how long or short - mean and meant so much to me [heart emoji]

Jihoon’d already been warned about the hell that is third year, but he had no idea it’d be this difficult. From day one of fall semester, Jihoon’s inundated with homework, assigned readings, online quizzes, and hundreds of hundreds of powerpoint slides to review. Thankfully, Minghao’s taken more than half of the classes, so his previous lecture notes and study guides are a huge help. Casual meetups at the dining hall turns into Minghao re-lecturing Jihoon on the topics he didn’t understand the first time, the other boys with their noses in their own mountain of work. Fuck third year.

“I’m gonna drop out,” Jeonghan looks up from his e-textbook to say, reading everyone’s minds. “Why the fuck do I have to write papers in MLA format as a fuckin’ photography major?”

“Photography has history, Hanie,” Soonyoung frowns at him. “Of course you’ll be writing papers.”

“Can’t I tell the history through — I ‘dunno — _photos_? This is the absolute worst.”

Hansol stops typing on his laptop to frown at Jeonghan next. It’s been one and a half weeks of fall semester and he already looks worn out. “Try being an engineering major, dude. Enjoy the fact that you only have to write papers.”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Jeonghan groans, slouching in his chair. “Give it up to a STEM major to try to one-up me. You guys are almost as annoying as theatre majors. _Almost_.”

Minghao finishes untangling the wires and cords inside of Jihoon’s brain, making all the formulas and essay-long homework questions sound more like sensible Korean and less like Cantonese. “How are you so smart?” Jihoon mumbles begrudgingly. “You had to learn physics in _another language_. What the fuck.”

Minghao giggles softly, patting a palm between Jihoon’s scapulae. “You’re way smarter, Hoonie. I’m lucky enough to have Korean friends that helped me out.” Yeah, yeah, yeah. There goes Modest Minghao (MM for short) with his annoyingly-endearing spiel.

“Stop avoiding the compliment and say thank you.”

Minghao giggles again, rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Thank you. Let’s move on to the next assignment, please.”

He doesn’t have to ask Jihoon twice; he shamelessly clicks through his lecture’s page to twenty more essay-questions. If Minghao carries him through the entire semester like this, maybe third year won’t be so bad. “You can’t abandon me,” Jihoon tells him as Minghao starts scribbling down an explanation for the first problem. “From now until finals, I need your high IQ and lecture notes. Please.”

Another eye roll. “You know where to find me.”

Jihoon pumps a fist in victory, then leans forward to watch Minghao bleed his genius onto the sheet of paper in perfect handwriting.

Jeonghan maintains his slouch, one arm slung over the back of his chair, absently watching the other men work. “Can we do something this weekend? If we do nothing but schoolwork for the rest of the year I’m actually gonna drop out. No lie.”

“Drop out, then,” Soonyoung says to his computer screen. “I’ll be sleeping, eating, and breathing the library until winter break.”

“Hao can do in ten minutes what I do in two hours,” Jihoon says, eyes trailing Minghao’s pen as it glides along. “AKA I suddenly have a lot of free time. I’m down for whatever.”

“C’s get degrees,” Hansol agrees to whatever report he’s typing up. “Jun is hosting a pre-game at his and Wonwoo’s place this Saturday. Then they have another performance at — “

“I’m not going back to _The Social Venue_ ,” Jeonghan juts in. “Anything but that.”

Hansol shoots him a look, eyebrows furrowed. “Good thing that’s not where it’s gonna be. It’s at some club downtown. _Legends_ , or something.”

Jeonghan is already typing it up on his phone. A few seconds later, he says, relieved, “Alright. Looks cleaner than that other shit hole.”

“I’ll send you guys what Jun texted me,” Hansol says. “One minute.”

The beginning of their third year solidified a new beginning. Subtle, gradual changes that progressed over the course of summer break, providing Jihoon room to breathe easy. First change being that they’ve started using a new group chat — the one they created with Chan pre-Wow That Night at The Bar Was Crazy, Huh? A very necessary switch that Jihoon wordlessly thanked Minghao for, being that Minghao was the one to push that chat as their new home base. The second change is that they’ve simultaneously decided not to talk about anything or anyone prior to the hell that was last semester. Another necessary development made in hopes that Jihoon will stop randomly leaving or hiding somewhere to cry and isolate and rot.

Jihoon’s insides feel a lot like what the aftermath of a hurricane looks; the storm has passed, leaving destruction and an eery, quiet peace in its wake. He’s the only one that can clean it up — and he’s been trying. Day by day, mending his bones, removing the rubble and fanning out the smoke. He’s moving on. He has to.

Baby steps. Instagram accounts put on mute once accepting, after the 500th refresh in the dark of his room, that there won’t be any more updates. No more polaroids, no more couple pictures, not even deleted couple pictures. Just nothing. Jihoon deactivated in his final efforts to heal. Going out to parties and social events and making himself emotionally available for the friends that could’ve shunned him, but didn’t; he won’t be taking that blessing for granted anymore. Working on himself physically (gym workouts with Soonyoung at least twice a week), educationally (his music won’t write itself), mentally (long chats with Minghao on his worst nights, drinking wine and getting pep talks that actually work). Jihoon’s rebuilding what the hurricane wiped away.

More than rebuilding — he’s discovering parts of himself that he’s hidden in any crevice he could make fit. Jihoon’s on pep talk number five when he’s able to be a little more candid with Minghao, make himself vulnerable consensually. “This means I’m bi… right? Even though I’ve only been with one guy?”

They were at Minghao’s dining room table, sipping merlot and eating whole grain crackers with the living room TV as their white noise. Minghao swallowed his sip, lowering the flute back onto the wood, said, “You don’t have to call yourself anything, Hoonie. None of that matters. You like who you like.” He paused. “I’ve had sex with women — well, wo _man_ — men, people that identified as neither, both… And I don’t call myself anything. Like. Life is way too complicated to be put in one box. Y’know?”

Jihoon absorbed his words, let it soak throughout the following days as he swished them around in his mouth. No labels needed. That makes sense. In contrast, just because no labels are required doesn’t mean that Jihoon can’t choose them anyway. The freedom not to means the reciprocal is also true: Jihoon’s bisexual. He can accept that now. One guy, no guy, ten guys — the ‘dick-sucking quota’ doesn’t exist. Same way mind reading abilities don’t. So far Jihoon’s only liked (loved. Loves.) one man, but that — for once — genuinely Doesn’t Matter. Jihoon is bisexual.

Okay.

He said it aloud for the first time during his sixth Minghao Pep Talk. Except Soonyoung was present this time, and while Minghao smiled quietly with glassy eyes, Soonyoung pulled Jihoon into a hug and told him he loved him and Jihoon’s dumb ass started tearing up, too, despite how corny the situation felt.

 _Sometimes it’s hard to understand what’s going on inside your head,_ Minghao had told him once. Jihoon is committed to changing that. Baby steps.

“Hey,” Soonyoung is whining at the dining hall table. “You guys can’t go to parties without me.”

“Then stop being a loser and come with us,” Jeonghan says.

“Unlike you, if I wanna go to grad school I can’t scrape by with a bunch of C’s,” Soonyoung retorts.

“ _One_ night out is gonna ruin your entire semester? C’mon, Soonyoung. Just come with us.”

Minghao looks up from the sheet of paper, reaches his free hand out to curl his fingers around the crook of Soonyoung’s neck. “Over my dead body you’re getting C’s. Balance is important for your mental health, Soonie.”

Soonyoung frowns at his computer, resolve visually breaking.

“We can go to the pre-game and then leave when they go out,” Minghao tries. “If you don’t even want to stay at the pre-game, we can hang for an hour or two. That sound better?”

“Your lover boy wants you to come, Soon,” Jeonghan deadpans. “So come.”

They’ve long since learned not to take the bait, neither man sparing Jeonghan a glance. (Sometimes, at least.) “I don’t wanna force you,” Minghao’s voice goes gentle. He gives Soonyoung’s neck a slight squeeze. “But it’d be so much funner with you there.”

“If even _I’m_ going, you have to go,” Jihoon gets in. He doesn’t have to provide context to that statement; they know exactly what he means. And it shows on Soonyoung’s face, when he crumbles completely and pouts his defeat.

“Fine,” Soonyoung grumbles, arms crossed. “Pre-game only.” This earns him a cheer from Jihoon, Jeonghan, and Minghao.

Then their phones are lighting up with a text in the new group chat. Hansol lowers his phone from his face and says, “Cool. Well, I sent the time and address and stuff. Pre-game starts at 9PM, but come whenever. Unless you guys wanna meet up at my apartment and uber there.”

Minghao picks his phone up and squints at the screen. “I don’t think we will,” he says. “Soonie and I should carpool from our place instead. More convenient.”

“True. Just lemme know when you guys are heading there, then, so we can try to show up around the same time.”

The group chat buzzes with another notification, Jihoon’s phone rattling the table. He leans over to unlock it from where it sits.

heartthrob chan: _so that means you guys are coming!? :^)_

Jeonghan, brow furrowing, immediately starts thumbing his screen.

Jeonghanie: _to the pregame, yes. to watch your screamo band? TBD_

With no one to take the freshly available job as the _The Future_ defender, the men only chuckle at their phones.

heartthrob chan: _don’t be like that. let loose! have fun! come support us! drinks on me!_

Jeonghanie: _TBD._

Chan doesn’t bother responding to that, so the conversation dies as fast as it began. “Jeonghan,” Jihoon chastises. “Don’t be an asshole and support th’kid.”

Minghao rolls his eyes. “Just ignore him. He’s playing hard to get.” He waves a dismissive hand in the air. “He’ll be there.”

There’s no witty response from Jeonghan — which is another way of admitting that Minghao’s right. Instead, Jeonghan mutters something under his breath before sitting up and returning to his lukewarm black coffee. Looks like _Legends_ is officially on the itinerary. (Plus or minus Minghao and Soonyoung. Hopefully plus.)

With that, Jihoon loses his Human Calculator when Minghao has to get to his afternoon lecture in ten minutes. “Alright,” Minghao sighs as he slides the paper back to Jihoon. “Here are the formulas you need for the questions. I solved one of them already so you have an example.” He smiles shyly when Jihoon sings his praises, bowing down with his hands stacked in front of him as best he can in his chair. “I’m heading out, guys. Soonie - coming with?”

Soonyoung hops up and grabs both of their bags, hooking his own on his shoulders and carrying Minghao’s in one hand. “‘Course. See you guys later tonight if anyone wants to study with me. I’ll be — “

“In the library, yeah, yeah,” Jeonghan sighs as if it personally burdens him. “I’ll probably meet you there. Just text me.”

“Same,” Hansol says to his phone.

“Cool. See ya.”

And then Soonyoung is walking off with Minghao beside him. Jihoon watches the two navigate around the tables on their way out; Minghao’s telling Soonyoung something out of earshot and Soonyoung is watching his mouth with a soft smile on his face. It’s the first time since finding out that they’re… _involved_ … that Jihoon feels a sharp pang of jealousy. A brief one, but a pang nonetheless. He can’t recall a moment where they’ve ever had a falling out, never even knows they’re arguing about something until _after_ it’s resolved and one of them passively mentions it. They’re so good at keeping their personal disputes between themselves. Which is to be expected, considering they’ve been dating for god knows how long and the rest only found out a couple of months ago.

Meanwhile, Jihoon…

“When’s your next class?” Hansol asks him, glancing at him from over his phone.

Jihoon snaps out of wherever dangerous place his mind strayed. “Um,” it takes a few seconds too long to remember his schedule. “In, like. Half an hour.”

“Bet. Let’s go together; I have a meeting with Dr. Yeon about that stupid project he’s making us do.”

Guessing by the glint in Hansol’s honey brown eyes, Jihoon has an idea of where this is going. He’s seen that glint many times since summer semester — fucking hates it, if he’s being honest. Hansol’s adhering to his ‘don’t talk about it unless asked’ stipulation, but — if you ask Jihoon — he’s been straddling that line very often recently. He won’t ask _direct_ questions, yes, though the indirect questions are kinda worse. Worse, because they’re —

“You cool with coming to _Legends_?” Hansol is asking as they cross the busy campus side by side. There’s that glint. The Glint of Concern. Jihoon has to look away, trains his gaze ahead to better dodge the other students ambling around them.

A loaded question, of course. Jihoon tries his best nonchalant shrug, keeps his voice as blasé as possible when he answers, “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be? Chan’s band is fucking incredible. Kid’s got crazy talent.”

The worst trait Hansol has is his stubbornness. Undeterred as fucking usual, he says, “Y’don’t have to if you don’t want to, Hoonie. There’s a good chance that he’ll be there, an — “

“I’m not gonna let him control my life. Chan wants our support, and I want to go.” He dares himself to meet Hansol’s eyes despite the dangerous pace of his heart. “So I’m going.”

Hansol’s expression turns into a blend of pride and concern. “Okayy.” He lengthens the word in his apprehension. “Gotcha. I’ll see you Saturday night, then.”

“Saturday night,” Jihoon confirms in a croak. “Yep.”

Saturday night.

* * *

Saturday night. Thanks so much, Hansol, because Jihoon wasn’t even fucking thinking about the possibility of coming across _him_ until it was mentioned; Jihoon has become such an expert at pretending that now that he’s thinking about it — all of it — again, the dreadful throb of anticipation (And fear. Mostly fear.) follows him through his pre-party routine, through his solo uber ride to Jun and Wonwoo’s apartment, into the crowded living room and kitchen. He needs something to chase the memories off, and _fast_.

It’s loud. Of course. Nondescript rock music is blasting through the speakers Jun installed up on the threshold between the wall and the ceiling. As much of the furniture as possible is a black leather — the couches, the barstools, the dining room chairs, the works. Really, most of the apartment is decorated in blacks and greys; there are paintings on the walls that honestly spook Jihoon a little. The dark form of a woman with her mouth open on a silent scream; the silhouette of goats with long, winding horns prancing in a circle around what seems to be forest fire; posters of artists that Jihoon’s definitely not deep enough in the band scene to recognize; so on and so forth. Then there are an assortment of decorations sprawled across the glass coffee table and desks: vases of black cats with blood-red eyes, a statue of a brown owl with its wings spread as if in flight, and other tacky animal figurines. Very… rocker. Rock-y. Whatever they were going for.

And about half of the partiers are obviously _The Future_ ’s friends; the ones wearing leather jackets with silver studs, dark and brooding eye makeup, their hair bright colors and their clothes littered in holes. The other half are more Jihoon’s crowd, dressed more like average university students prepared to black-out on a random street corner. Thank god. Jihoon would’ve been a fish out of water with his dark wash jeans, plain white tee, and black Adidas jacket — though maybe the black could’ve saved him some street cred.

Well. Regardless of who’s there and what’s happening, Jihoon needs a drink. Drinks. However many it takes to start having fun and feeling good about himself again. He squeezes his way to the kitchen, gets two vodka shots in when Hansol and Jeonghan find him.

“Where’ve you been, dude?” Hansol says, slinging an arm over his shoulders. He already looks a little faded, stinks of weed even in the chaos of strange cologne and sweat that permeates the air. “You said y’were on your way almost an _hour_ ago.”

Yes, but that was _before_ Jihoon had an existential crisis in his bedroom, debating whether to text the group chat that something came up and that, no, he couldn’t say what it was, but it was super important and required his full attention — trust. He cycled through that and telling himself that he can’t let _one_ person decide the future of his college career for forty minutes, then — in a momentary burst of confidence — hurriedly called for an uber. He didn’t want his 37K won to go to waste, so that meant he _had_ to go through with it. Shit’s expensive out here.

Jihoon chooses to say, “I couldn’t decide on an outfit,” instead.

“Really?” Jeonghan — who _also_ looks a little faded — squints his eyes at Jihoon in that exaggerated way non-sober people emote. He has a red cup in one hand, the other carding through his overgrown haircut. “It took you an hour to pick the most basic outfit in existence?”

“Not everybody’s a fashionista like you, Jeonghanie,” Jihoon counters immediately. He pours himself another shot in his tiny plastic cup without breaking eye contact, some of the vodka spilling out onto his fingers. “That shirt is too fancy to wear to a fucking _pre-game_.”

Hansol and Jeonghan avert their attention to Jeonghan’s baby pink v-neck blouse while Jihoon backs his shot. Hansol starts to laugh, white teeth and pink gums on display. “Y’gotta admit he’s right,” he says and elbows Jeonghan. “Looks like you should be on a runway or something.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Jeonghan smirks at him, then takes a gulp of whatever’s in his cup. He frowns as a crowd of pastel-haired girls shove past him to get to the alcohol display; then, when the playlist switches to a rock song that’s louder and has more screaming than the previous, his frown shifts into a wince. “I feel so out of place, dude. What the fuck is this bullshit?”

Jihoon and Hansol can’t help but laugh at his misery. “Something I’d be dancing to, if I knew how,” Jihoon answers. He fixes himself another shot and gulps it down. Finally, his limbs are starting to loosen up, a pleasant burn crawling down his chest and into his abdomen. This is good. Very good. There’s no stupidly handsome, six foot men in sight, he’s got a couple drinks in him, and two of his good friends are with him, jostling in the waves of students. And Jihoon’s more than an hour late, which means there’s a high chance Stupidly Handsome Six Foot Man won’t be showing up after all.

“Be a good sport,” Hansol is saying on the remnants of a giggle. “Chan asked specifically for your support! He loves you, Hanie.”

Jeonghan grimaces, but eventually breaks down into a good-natured sigh and a grin. “Right, okay,” he relents. “If Chan _insists_ , I’ll grace him with my presence.”

Jihoon glances towards the dining room when a roar of groans and laughs erupt in that direction. Leather-clad _The Future_ fans are circling the dining table, playing what looks like an intense game of flip cup. “Speaking of Chan,” he shouts over a particularly loud guitar riff blasting from the speakers. He doesn’t finish the thought, the other two catching on and looking over.

The man himself, lead singer and part-time guitarist Chan, is standing on the outskirts of the circle, near the hallway that leads to the bedrooms. In front of him is Jun, who has his back to Chan because he’s playing flip cup with the rest; Chan’s talking amicably with a tipsy Minghao and Soonyoung, large straight teeth flashing in his exuberance. Another man that’s wholly committed to his brand, he’s wearing the usual all black and silver. His eyes are outlined with a smoky grey color and sparkles that glint under the lights (as much light a dark apartment can permit). And he’s dressed in a loose black cardigan, black blouse, black jeans with a slit on one thigh, and — you guessed it — those worn-out black boots. Silver rings and necklaces are the final touch. Oh, heartthrob Chan.

“I think Minghao’s, like, a little bit in love with him,” Hansol says.

“Isn’t everybody?” Jeonghan answers while watching Chan hop up and down excitedly at something Minghao just said. “He’s a fucking rockstar.”

Jihoon nudges Jeonghan and wiggles his eyebrows. “Guess that includes you, huh?”

Another retort with no response. Jeonghan rolls his eyes and reaches around Jihoon to make himself a drink with the sprite and vokda.

“You better not break our promise,” Hansol teases and shoots a Van-clad foot out to poke his shin. “Don’t make me the last straight man standing.”

Jeonghan fixes him with a glare. “Dude. Not gonna happen in our lifetime.”

Aaand they’re back to the sexuality talk. Kinda sorta Jihoon’s fault, but whatever. Time to go. Backing another shot of vodka for the road, Jihoon shouts, “Let’s go see what they’re talking about,” before squeezing his way over to the other three men. He distantly catches Jeonghan saying something about not leaving him behind, chooses to ignore it.

“Hoonie!” Soonyoung cheers with way too much energy. He untwists himself from Minghao’s arms to drag Jihoon into a hug. “M’so glad you came. I love you!” Maybe he’s closer to drunk than Jihoon thought.

Minghao leans a casual shoulder on the wall, smiling at Jihoon as he humors Soonyoung with a couple back-pats. “Where’ve you been, dude? Hiding in a closet somewhere?”

“Very funny,” Jihoon deadpans. The double entendre is not missed on him. “I was in the kitchen getting a drink with Hansol and Soonyoung.”

“Lee Jihoon hyung,” Chan greets. He pushes himself up off the wall, sways a little. “My friend. My champion. My number one fan.” Yeah. The sad part is that Jihoon’s sure Chan isn’t even drunk, can’t use that as an excuse for the weirdness.

Jihoon frees himself from Soonyoung’s clutches. “Is Jun rubbing off on you? Too much band practice together?”

Chan’s signature boisterous laugh escapes him. “More like I’m rubbing off on _Jun_. What’s up, friend? How’ve you been?” He reaches out and drags Jihoon into an embrace, too; Jihoon humors this one longer than Soonyoung’s. It’s Chan’s big night, after all. “I haven’t seen you in a minute.”

 _Was too busy crying myself to sleep_. Jihoon pats Chan’s back. “Yeah, sorry. Been studying, stressing — the usual. You?”

“Band practice. Performances. Pretending I care about my grades — the usual.”

This gets the three men to laugh. Jihoon steps away as Chan removes his arms from around his waist. Now Jihoon’s close enough to see that his cheekbones are also dusted with glitter. Shocker. “You’re dressed fancier this time around,” he offers. Not by much, but the effort is apparent.

“Yeah?” Chan giggles, preening. He shows off his black-coated fingernails to them, wiggling his fingers. There’s glitter in the nail polish, too. “Hyejin noona styled me today. _Legends_ is probs the biggest venue we’ve gotten in the city, so she said we had to make it count. How do I look?” He jumps to make a pose, chin tipped back, one hand on his hip, a leg jutted out.

Soonyoung has returned to his rightful place in Minghao’s arms. One cheek tucked under Minghao’s armpit, he laughs and says, “Like a fucking lady-killer, Channie. Your groupies are gonna shit their pants when they see you up on stage.”

“More like _wet_ their pants,” Minghao quips.

Soonyoung twists his head to scrunch his nose at him. “Like _piss_?”

Jihoon shoves Soonyoung on the arm, jostling the lovebirds into the wall. “Shut up, dude,” he laughs. “You know what he means.”

“I just like being difficult,” he admits, giggling harder when Minghao tickles him as his ‘punishment’. And not to be Jeonghan, but — disgusting.

None of the chaos deters Chan from his plight for compliments, though; “Thanks,” he beams. “Hyejin noona said the same thing.” He pauses. “The girls and getting wet part… not the shitting. Or the piss.”

“Since we’re on the topic of girls and getting wet,” Jeonghan materializes out of the crowd surrounding them, drapes a heavy arm around Jihoon’s shoulders. Hansol isn’t far behind, several detours made to talk to practically the entire party, the popular man that he is. “I never got to ask you _way_ back when we went to that neon bar thingie. Did you and that one chick ever… y’know.”

Chan blinks dumbly at Jeonghan for a moment, confused. “Neon bar. Girl.”

Minghao bursts into a fit of giggles, eyes crinkling. “He gets so much pussy he doesn’t even remember. Oh my god. Chan the man.”

It’s almost adorable the way Chan waves both hands in disagreement, his own eyes going wide. “No, no, I really don’t, it just took me a minute! I remember now.” He shrugs a shoulder at an expectant Jeonghan. “Unfortunately not. Her friends were bar-hopping and they came to cock-block. I got her number, though.”

Now they’re all staring at him expectantly.

A shy smile spreads across his lips. “No, I didn’t call or text her. The most action I got was a pity grope in the middle of the bar.”

More laughter from everyone. The flip cup crowd breaks into another chaos of drunken shouting, some chanting and others in despair.

“I guess even ‘Chan the man’ misses every once in awhile,” Jihoon manages to say.

Chan shoves Jihoon, rocking both Jihoon and Jeonghan, who still has his arm over him. “Whatever. What about _you_ , though? My memory may be shit, but I do remember you having your own groping sesh with a cute blonde.”

The way Soonyoung, Minghao, Jeonghan, and Jihoon’s expressions fall in an instant tells the story of that night very well. Chan glances at them, once again confused. “…I’m guessing not good?”

Jihoon decides, in his tipsy-almost-drunk state, to blurt the truth (some of it, anyway) before any of the other buffoons can say something out of line. “Pretty horrible, yeah,” he admits. “Got my heart broken the next day.”

Chan’s confusion turns into incredulity. “By the blonde chick you met _that night_?”

“Nah. By somebody else. She was kinda a rebound.” In a very, very convoluted way, it’s true. Just can’t think too hard about it.

His friends remain uncharacteristically quiet. Both a blessing and a curse.

“Oh.” Chan’s eyebrows furrow in sympathy — Jihoon’s worst enemy. Second to overthinking. “Poor Hoonie,” he coos, stretching his arms out to snatch Jihoon from Jeonghan’s embrace. Fighting the visceral urge to escape (spurred by being intoxicated and also hoping that with enough cuddling he can erase the phantom touch of tall, handsome men), Jihoon allows Chan to hold him close and rest his cheek on top of his head. “I didn’t know you were in love. I can make it better.”

“Please do,” Jeonghan says. “Work your rockstar magic, ‘cause I can’t take anymore moping.”

Jihoon doesn’t have the chance to defend himself before Minghao does it for him. “Hey,” he pipes up with a frown. “He’s been a lot better recently. Don’t be an asshole.”

“When you’re _not_ looking he is,” Jeonghan retorts, crossing his arms indignantly.

Which. Is strangely introspective coming from the alleged mood maker. Fuck. Jihoon isn’t drunk enough for this. He leans further into Chan, a futile attempt to escape resurfacing Bad Feelings in the aroma of floral perfume and cigarette smoke.

But, “What matters is,” Chan says, a hand coming up to cup Jihoon under his chin. “Your favorite dongsaeng can make it better.” He twists his torso a little to make eye contact with Jihoon, charming pout on his face. “It’s the least I can do for you being my number one fan. Your words, not mine.”

“Kiss him,” Soonyoung begins to chant out of fucking thin air. He pumps two fists in the air in rhythm. “Kiss him, kiss him, kiss him!” _Fucker_.

“What did I just walk up to?” Hansol takes a spot on the other side of Jeonghan with an amused grin.

“Nothing,” Jihoon blurts. He can feel his ears burning, knows they’re already tinted red — and not from the heat or the alcohol.

“The Lee’s are gonna kiss,” Minghao says at the same time. Jihoon shoots him a look, only to receive a smirk in return. And, _wow_. Et tu, Brute?

Hansol cackles and presses a fist to his open mouth. “Word? Chan’s an equal opportunist?”

“ _Another_ one?” Jeonghan groans, shoulders slumping. “What university did I _come_ to?” Again, only Minghao takes the bait, raising a fist and making Jeonghan flinch and beg for mercy.

Chan lets out his loud, signature laugh. And Jihoon pliantly follows when Chan lifts his head so they’re face to face. Closer than he’s probably ever been before, Jihoon can appreciate the brown of Chan’s irises, sparking to life in the glimmer of his grey eyeshadow. “Only if you want me to, hyung,” he slurs in a dramatized sultry tone. Hansol continues to laugh in the background.

Okay. You know what? Fuck it. If Chan is going to be the second time he’s kissed another man, Jihoon’s perfectly fine with that. Anything to override the phantom of lips against his, one filled with false promises and lies. Kissing a rockstar with an entire rotation of groupies is, like, an upgrade, anyway. A rockstar that has been nothing but nice to him the moment they met, is talented as fuck, and is easy on the eyes. Definitely an upgrade. Jihoon can move up to level two of bisexuality after this, or something.

Level three is pulling the son of a chairman. Or a doctor. Or a C-list actor. Yeah. It has been decreed.

Soonyoung hasn’t stopped chanting _kiss him_ ’s, an annoyance that dulls once Jihoon’s decided that his pleas will be met. “If you taste like cigarettes,” Jihoon says to Chan’s pink-tinted lips. “I’m going to kill you.” He’s answered with a laugh, but he doesn’t let Chan verbally confirm or deny before he shoots forward and presses their mouths together. Chan is quick to adjust, tips Jihoon’s chin up higher with one hand while the other tugs him in by the small of his back.

It’s kinda difficult to focus on what he’s doing when chaos erupts around him. Soonyoung and Minghao are cheering, Hansol is cackling louder, and Jeonghan is threatening to find other people to hang out with (as if he has other friends) — the works. Thankfully, Heartthrob Chan is accustomed to distractions and pays them no mind, licks into Jihoon’s mouth in a silent request for reciprocation. Jihoon manages to comply and holds Chan by his hips like he does when he kisses girls, keeping him in place.

“Pre-show fuck?” He hears Soonyoung suggest loudly. “Pre-show fuck in Jun or Wonwoo’s room?”

A distant giggle from Minghao. “You can’t just offer up their rooms like that, Soonie. And I don’t think they’d be happy to find out people fucked on their beds.”

“Party pooper. An exception can be made; Chan is their _bandmate_.” 

“All the more reason it’s a horrible idea,” Hansol’s amused voice counters.

Funny how they’re arguing over whether Jihoon’s going to fuck Chan _without_ his input. But whatever. The kiss is honestly turning Jihoon on a little, something he hadn’t foresaw; Chan kisses with the same vigor he performs with — hungry, determined, chasing nothing less than perfect. There’s some teeth balanced with a consoling tongue, both of which holds Jihoon’s entire focus. And perhaps it’s the vodka, the spontaneity of the moment, the horniness, all or none of the above, but Jihoon’s already on board when Chan breaks away to regard their excited audience, says, “Jun won’t give a shit. I’m always down to mess around before a show.”

Cool. He doesn’t have to tell Jihoon’s heartbroken self twice. He thinks Minghao is saying something akin to reluctant agreeance, though it’s overshadowed by Jihoon’s brain screaming at him to take this chance while it lasts; he hasn’t had sex in a minute, and the only person he’s been involved with in the last year is M.I.A. (and is, again, no longer an option for several reasons). Also, it’s possible that some of his anger stems from being dick-matized. Or something. Chan _has_ to be good in bed, with his line-up of willing women — and men, can knock the sense into Jihoon.

So that leaves him with one option. One option that he follows through with.

“Lead the way,” Jihoon says.

Soonyoung gasps with glee. “Oh my god? Oh my god! It’s actually happening?” 

Then it’s a race down the hall and to a bedroom — Jihoon isn’t sure whose — as Chan pretty much drags Jihoon by the collar of his tee shirt. He doesn’t have a moment to appreciate the way the room is decorated before he’s shoved onto the bed. Not like that matters. But the push does give Jihoon momentary pause; legs hanging off the edge, he props his upper body up with his elbows and considers Chan, whom hasn’t moved from standing in front of him.

A flash of reluctance crosses Chan’s features. “You sure about this, hyung?” His hands are already holding his cardigan, ready to either tug it off or pull it on at Jihoon’s word. “I’m so down, but… I hope you don’t feel pressured.”

How considerate. Sure, even at 23 years old Jihoon can be victim to peer pressure — but definitely not where sex is concerned. Just other stupid shit. Like drunk driving to a Wendy’s to eat and make out in the parking lot.

“I want this,” Jihoon answers, proud of himself at how assured it comes out. Assured, level-headed, firmly retaining his role as the older person here. “Now c’mon before you guys gotta go get ready for your set.” He reaches one hand out, curling and uncurling his fingers.

Chan gives him a stupid grin. “Okay.” He wastes no time flinging off his black cardigan, revealing the draping blouse underneath. “I didn’t know you were. You, uh…” He tosses the clothing on the carpet, steps forward to press a knee between Jihoon’s spread legs and lean over him. “Were an ‘equal opportunist’.”

Jihoon’s starting to feel a little nervous at the prospect of having sex with a man that isn’t — _him_ — yeah, but he shoves it into his subconscious to contemplate for another day. Now’s not the time. Fucking a man is different than women, though it isn’t like he hasn’t done something like this before. He can do this. He’s gonna fuck a rockstar and become a level 2 bisexual.

“I didn’t either,” Jihoon says while undoing the button of his jeans. “Until recently.”

“Yeah?” Chan fishes his phone out of the back pocket of his tight jeans and lays it at the end of the bed face up. He’s straddling Jihoon’s legs, grabs his arms to pull him up so that Jihoon’s seated and Chan’s on his lap. “Anyone I know lead you to your Great Awakening?”

Jihoon needs Chan to shut up now, before his half-chub wilts. “Myself,” Jihoon answers, then tugs Chan in by the back of his head and smashes their mouths together. It’s a little too forceful, and Chan hisses into the kiss before he tilts his head and licks back into Jihoon’s mouth.

Okay, perfect. The nerves begin to fade as his lust takes over. He and Chan kiss like this for awhile — feels like awhile to Jihoon, at least — while Chan roams curious hands over Jihoon’s body, across his firm chest, his biceps, his back. In turn, Jihoon takes the perfect opportunity to grope Chan’s firm thighs and revel in how tough they feel beneath his palms.

Chan giggles breathily against Jihoon’s mouth, whispers, “If you like that,” while he grabs Jihoon’s hands and moves them to his ass. “You’ll like this more.”

 _Okay_! There goes any lingering doubts about his same-sex attraction; Jihoon is proud to say that he’s subverted the dick-sucking quota and has achieved level 3 status on the Kinsey scale — if his fattening cock is anything to go by. And who is he to refuse? He gives Chan exactly what he wants and grips each cheek firmly, slides Chan further onto his lap while Chan continues to laugh and kiss his lips.

Things are moving faster, getting hotter, the two men separating so Chan can tug Jihoon’s shirt out from under his jeans in an attempt to remove it. Finally. It’s not Yewon, and it’s not a random bar with neon lights, but Jihoon’s gonna get laid. _He’s gonna get laid_. Feels a little too good to be true, if Jihoon’s being honest, since he didn’t even have to work for it this time, didn’t imagine fucking when he had his existential crisis in front of his bedroom mirror. And yet he’s here, in Jun or Wonwoo’s bedroom, providing Chan with his pre-show relaxant in a loud, crowded apartment.

Jihoon lies on his back, and Chan temporarily abandons his quest to get Jihoon out of his shirt to lean forward and make out some more instead. And Jihoon’s imagining how far they can go — how much further _Chan_ wants to go — as two men without a condom or lubricant. He’s no stranger to anal… but that’s a messy endeavor and is probably not something Chan wants to risk doing before his performance. Jihoon’s cool with that (albeit he _is_ pretty damn curious about anal with a man), duh, which leaves hand jobs. Blowjobs. Is fingering also too messy? Will Chan be down if Jihoon suggests? He’ll need Chan to instruct him on how to make ass fingering pleasurable, since girls don’t have prostates and Jihoon’s only ever fingered pussy.

He’s getting _way_ ahead of himself. He knows. That’s his worst trait, the reason he has so many Don’t Matters in the first place. But he hasn’t considered _how_ far ahead of himself he’s gotten until Chan’s phone dings several times in a row beside their heads. At first they both ignore it to keep sucking faces; then, Jihoon’s curiosity — and annoyance — gets the best of him when the phone dings three more times. Chan sits up and pants, “Sorry, ignore that,” and reaches out to turn the ringer off —

Right before Jihoon lolls his head to the side, catches the name on the screen as Chan flips the phone over.

Wait.

“Anyways,” Chan laughs, and he tries to return to kissing, but Jihoon dodges it, eyes stuck on the phone. “Hyung?”

 _Wait_.

“Wait.” Jihoon isn’t breathing in his anticipation, pries his hands off of Chan’s ass to pick his phone up and click the screen back on. “You — ?”

_Mingyu hyung._

Chan blinks slowly at him, confused. “What?”

He doesn’t stop his mouth from working on its own. “You’re texting Mingyu?”

An awkward pause. The confusion Chan exudes amplifies two-fold. “Huh? Yeah? He, uh, was supposed to be the photographer for my set.” He snatches his phone from Jihoon’s clammy hands to unlock it. Eyes scanning the screen, he continues, “But he said he couldn’t make it, so one of his classmates is coming instead.”

Give it up to Mingyu to cock-block even from his dungeon. Jihoon’s not horny anymore. So not-horny that he’s gone in the opposite direction: revolted. Stomach lurching, the vodka not helping with his sudden nausea, Jihoon sits up and guides Chan off of his lap and onto the mattress. “You two have been texting? Do you guys hang out?” More questions he doesn’t want — need — the answer to.

“Hyung…” Chan’s confusion blends into concern. “What’s up with you?”

Not an answer to the fucking question(s). Jihoon meets his stare. “Chan. Are you guys hanging out or not?”

Chan’s lips part, close, and then part again. The crease between his eyebrows deepen, and he asks uncertainly, “Why? Are we not supposed to be?”

Jihoon doesn’t respond right away, sits on the edge of the bed unmoving.

“What’s going on? I can’t hang out with Mingyu?”

“No. No — that’s not.” Jihoon grounds himself long enough to placate Chan as he panics. “That’s okay. You’re fine.” So much for a dungeon. Mingyu’s out and about all right — just not with them. Him. He’s moving on. Something that Jihoon is currently trying to do, but that doesn’t stop it from hurting so fucking bad, ripping open the old, healing wound in his chest. The same questions rush back in through the entrance, none taking precedent over the other: why is he doing this? Why is he abandoning them without another word? How is this _fair_?

Chan’s phone screen flickers to life with a new notification, and his eyes glance down at it before examining Jihoon again. No doubt it’s Mingyu; Chan hasn’t left their text thread. Salt in a wound.

“I’m sorry,” Jihoon squeaks around the lump in his throat. Everything burns. God, it burns. The pain is going to eviscerate him alive. “I can’t. I gotta — I need some air.” He practically leaps up from the bed, refusing to look Chan in his face as he crosses the room and tugs the door open. The muted noises of laughter and music floods in. “I’ll see you at — See you at your show.”

“ _Hyung_ — ”

And then he’s taking off, shoving through the hoards of students on his way to the front door. He’s being rude, he knows, but he doesn’t have the emotional capacity to care about that right now; what he needs is _air_. He’s being burnt from the inside out, smog filling his lungs and choking him. The furnace he thought he’d shut off for good has roared alive, and it’s burning everything in its wake. All his hard work. Months and months of progress. Over a couple of _texts_.

Unfortunately, his friends haven’t left their spot by the hallway, and they catch Jihoon bee lining it across the living room. It’s way too loud to hear them if they try to call after him, but he senses Jeonghan shouting his name, pretends he doesn’t. He swings the door open and escapes.

It’s still warm outside, but it’s cooler than in the apartment. Jihoon waits until he’s down the two flights of stairs and safely on the ground floor, by a thatch of grass, before he gasps for oxygen. He’s dizzy from running while intoxicated, decides to crouch down on the sidewalk and tilt his head forward.

 _Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry you fucking idiot_. He refuses to ruin another night out.

— is what he tells himself, but Jeonghan, Hansol, Soonyoung, and Minghao quickly find him, were probably always mere steps behind.

“Are anyone of you still talking to Mingyu?” Jihoon blurts before any of them can ask questions. He lifts his head to squint into each of their faces for any signs of guilt. What he finds are varying degrees of shock and confusion, Hansol and Minghao’s more subdued than Jeonghan and Soonyoung’s. The same expression Chan gave him minutes prior. “Tell me the truth. Who’s still texting Mingyu?”

Pitying silence. Hansol crosses his arms and blinks slowly at him. Jeonghan remains as is. Soonyoung’s expression collapses into worry, and Minghao is looking at him like Jihoon’s seconds away from blowing up. Which is a very high possibility.

“Chan was texting him?” Hansol catches on immediately. “Mingyu loves Chan and _The Future_ , Hoonie. Of course they’re still — “

“He doesn’t love _me_?” Jihoon interrupts. He sounds frantic, pathetic — he can admit to that — but his walls are being burnt down as they speak and he doesn’t fucking care anymore. At least not tonight, with several vodka shots in him and his defenses crumbling. “He’s still talking to one of you. Maybe — fuck — maybe all of you. Who is it? Tell me the fucking truth, I swear to God, somebody bett — “

“On and off,” Soonyoung blurts. Eight pairs of eyes fall on him. He averts his gaze from Jihoon’s red-flushed face, repeats in a softer tone, “On and off. But. But because Angel and I are, like. Friends. And he knows we’ve been chatting ‘nd having dinner — “

“Fuck,” Jihoon shouts, piercing the open air and shutting Soonyoung up in an instant. “And this was supposed to be a secret? He can talk to — and — but not _me_ — ? I’m the only one, right? He talks with everyone but me?”

Minghao crouches down in front of Jihoon. “Hoonie,” he uses the same placating voice he did when Soonyoung was ready to kick Jihoon out of their apartment. Taming a wild animal. “Please. I haven’t heard from him since our — talk. Soonyoung’s the only one.”

Sounds like a betrayal to Jihoon’s enflamed brain. “And I wasn’t supposed to know?”

“Jihoon,” Soonyoung says, firm. “Mingyu’s still our friend. My friend. The same way I chose to forgive you, I chose to forgive him, too. We’re working through it. Angel needs — “

“They’re back together?” Jihoon asks. He ignores Minghao to consider Soonyoung, who is beginning to look upset. “Admit it, dude. Tell me they’re back together so at least I _know_. Stop with the secrets and tell me.”

Soonyoung crosses his arms. “No. I respect my friends’ privacy. And that includes _you_ , Jihoon. I don’t tell anybody about anyone. Let’s try to relax and finish the night on a good note, okay? Chan wants us to be there for him.”

“Yes,” Jeonghan begs. “Please. Can’t we postpone this until, I ‘dunno, tomorrow afternoon? If we’re not hungover?”

No one else says anything. They contemplate Jihoon as if preparing themselves for a tantrum. And, despite being both emotional and under the influence, Jihoon operates well under spite; if it’s a tantrum they’re expecting, it’s a tantrum they won’t get. Jihoon can play along for one night — he’s been doing that successfully for the past few months.

So: meltdown pending.

“Okay,” Jihoon says on an exhale. Rage simmers beneath the surface. “Sorry. I’ll chill. This is Chan’s night.” He’s being watched closely while he gets to his feet.

But none of it feels fair. Why does he get the short end of the stick while Mingyu glides along with zero (0) repercussions? He gets to keep his girlfriend, his friends, his _dignity,_ while Jihoon is drunk and heartbroken and filled with so much pent up anger that he could hit something. Mingyu has Soonyoung and ‘Angel’ as support albeit _he_ was the one that cheated, and Jihoon? Nothing. Okay — he has his friends, too, but that’s still less than what Mingyu has and deserves.

The realization makes Jihoon even angrier.

“Anyways,” Jihoon persists. He tugs as best a smile across his face that he can muster. “Who’s gonna call the uber to _Legends_?”

* * *

Jihoon is surprised to discover that the tears he’d expected once home alone don’t come. He’s lying on his bed — the bed he once refused to even spare a glance at — and it’s not sadness he’s feeling.

No. It’s rage.

* * *

Maybe the five stages of grief have been knocked out of order in the hurricane. ‘Cause depression is supposed to be _after_ anger, not before it. He’s not processing this the same way he came to terms with his height; his body is preparing himself for a fight. A fist fight that he’ll lose, but that has never stopped Jihoon from trying.

Jihoon decides to expend that energy into something productive: weight lifting. On Sunday evening he and Soonyoung meet up at one of the gyms on campus; Jihoon insists to him via text and again in person that he’s not upset at him anymore. Drinking makes him stupid and do stupid things with his stupidity. Soonyoung is dubbed Angel #2, because he forgives him automatically and they hug it out (to Jihoon’s chagrin).

Thankfully, Chan also forgives him. Their performance at _Legends_ was fucking incredible as usual, and Jihoon took an opportunity to apologize to Chan in the chaos of fans and groupies vying for his attention. “It’s all good, man,” Chan had told him with a mouth pressed to his ear and a hand on the small of his back. “Was a bad idea, anyway. Love you always.” And with a sloppy kiss to Jihoon’s cheek, Chan was whisked away by his bandmates and a gaggle of leather-clad girls. The kid’s life is a _movie_.

“Don’t worry about it,” Soonyoung is saying to him between sets. The gym is fairly crowded on a Sunday, but they came at a good time to claim their choice of dumb bells and mats. He shoves his damp fringe from sticking to his forehead, the other hand fanning his wet shirt out to get some wind circulation started. “You’re going through something tough as fuck. I’m actually kinda surprised how well you’ve been doing.”

Jihoon drops a 13kg weight with an exhausted gasp. “Really?” His tone is thick with disbelief. “I’ve been doing a shit job in my opinion.” One blow-up is one too many. Especially over a person he never dated.

“Yup. You don’t ask for my concealer anymore, no more nightmares, no more hiding in your apartment, _and_ you’ve been eating more.” He grins at Jihoon in the mirror they’re facing, cheeks rounding. “You’re even working out with me again.”

Huh. Well. When he puts it that way, Jihoon can see his point. Returning to his own bed and the absence of nightmares are his proudest accomplishments.

“Okay,” Jihoon says, mostly to himself. “Thanks, Soonie. You’re,”— and here comes the sappiness he loathes — “A good friend. Very good. Minghao is lucky to have you.”

Soonyoung turns away from the mirror to blink, mouth open in surprise, at Jihoon. Jihoon is busy looking any and everywhere other than at him. “Hoonie,” Soonyoung whimpers. “That’s so — I — wow? You’re. Um. You’re not who you were before.” Jihoon can understand the implication. “You’re different. Better. Thanks for trusting us.”

God damn it. He’s not doing this here (or anywhere). Jihoon swallows thickly, grumbles a _yeah, yeah_ under his breath before returning to his weights.

* * *

Things get easier again. As if discovering (and accepting) that Mingyu’s not locked in a dungeon somewhere was the final piece of closure his mind needed to replace what was lost in the fire. Those remnants of hope. He doesn’t have to torture himself anymore. Doesn’t have to constantly ask himself why he wasn’t enough, not worth the fight. It is what it is.

Fall semester peels along. Minghao continues to tutor him three to four times a week, and while the pep talks dwindle down until they’re no longer needed, Jihoon maintains his habit of coming by on some weekday evenings to watch movies with The Lovebirds and sip wine.

And he and Hansol create a routine, either going to the gym with Soonyoung or finding time to play one-on-one basketball or toss a baseball back and forth on the campus’ front ‘lounge lawn’ — the place students congregate with picnic blankets. Hansol’s calm disposition inadvertently rubs off on Jihoon whenever they’re together; while they share laughs and fuck around sometimes, most of the time Hansol shows him new music and explains the lyrics, tells him about the artist.

“It’s so simple, but I love it so much,” Hansol is saying. The two are sitting on the lawn in between classes, recovering from a round of basketball. “Like, the metaphor doesn’t take itself too seriously, y’know?” Jihoon has the right ear bud while Hansol has the left one. Hansol pulls up the Korean translation of the lyrics on his phone; Jihoon leans in to follow along. “ _The color in your eyes, are something I’ve been wishing. With the burden on my back, holdin’ on to what we had_ ,” he sings. “ _So now I’m dancing in an empty room_.”

Jihoon uses an index finger to scroll down. “Dancing in an empty room,” he repeats. “Like. The metaphor is that their relationship is empty like a room?” He huffs a laugh. “It’s so… on the nose, don’t you think?”

Hansol laughs in return, shakes his head. “Nah. I mean — maybe. I saw it more like the room was once full. And now that her partner is gone it’s bare. I like simple.” 

“Hm,” Jihoon says. “I can see that.” He grins at Hansol’s profile. “Still corny, but I see it.”

“You’re annoying,” Hansol retorts, but in a light tone.

He and Jeonghan carve some time out for themselves, too. Jeonghan is a sucker for overpriced coffee at hipster coffee shops, so Jihoon humors him on occasional weekends. “It happened so organically,” Jeonghan continues his story when Jihoon returns from the counter with their macchiatos. The mugs are heavy and decorated in hand-painted tulips. “Thank you. So, we needed an extra person in our group for the project, and we didn’t really talk much, y’know? It was always through the group chat or if we needed to talk about the films. I didn’t think much of her at the time.”

“You didn’t think she was cute or anything?” Jihoon asks. He gets settled in the uncomfortable metal chairs — _made from recycled car yard scraps!_ , the words on the seat proudly explains — and shrugs off his Adidas jacket.

Jeonghan takes a gentle sip from his mug before saying, “Eh. Not really? Like... I wasn’t paying much attention to her. Nothing stood out for me. But then she started sitting, like, a seat away from me. And then she moved to the seat beside me to ask a question one day — and she just kept sitting there?”

Jihoon _ooh’_ s at him, making Jeonghan turn red. “And then?” His own macchiato takes like shit. Way too bitter. But he paid fucking 10K won for it, so he’s obligated to finish it.

“Then… we began talking? And she’d text me outside of the group chat about random stuff.” Jeonghan takes another sip while contemplating his next words. “I, uhhh. Don’t. I know what you’re gonna say and _don’t_. I went over to her dorm because she wanted to show me this album of photographs from, like, the _1950s_.” He stops to cough awkwardly when Jihoon raises both eyebrows at him. “I kissed her.”

Jihoon’s lips curve up into a smile without his permission. “Yeah? _And_?” 

Jeonghan’s red from his cheeks to the tips of his ears now. Tucking a loose strand of brown hair into his ponytail, he stammers, “ _And_. We kinda. Yeah.” He glances up to see the look on Jihoon’s face. “Don’t do it. Jihoon — no — “

“ _Jeonghan_?” Jihoon blurts. “Romantic _Jeonghan_ had a one night stand?”

“Not a one night stand! That would mean we’re strangers, which we’re not! We — we’re kinda. Taking it slow?”

This is the best news Jihoon’s heard in weeks. He claps in delight, does a victory shimmy on the chair-shaped car yard scraps. “Jeonghan! Oh my god, dude. I’m so proud of you. Jeonghanie is dating someone? Can’t believe it.”

No denial comes; Jeonghan whines and busies himself with another sip of his bitter, overpriced macchiato. That says it all. Jeonghan is going steady. It’s a new world.

* * *

A new world, indeed.

Jeonghan’s older semi-girlfriend, Eunjin, invites him to a friend’s art show. And, of course, Jeonghan drops an invitation in the boys’ group chat, because it’s not a plan unless his friends come with him.

Jeonghanie: _please try to dress nicely. not like suit and tie but like… no graphic tee shirts_

Jeonghanie: _or adidas jackets. or sandals._

Jihoon: _this feels very targeted._

heartthrob chan: _i gotss band practice, but have fun!! take artsy pics!! kiss someone for me!!_

white people call him vernon: _you got it, boss. can’t wait to meet your girl_

Jeonghanie: _not my girl._

Soonyoung [blonde man emoji]: _sure, sure_

Jihoon: _but does she know that? kekekekeke_

Jeonghanie: _I’m about to leave the gc._

Jihoon decides to comply and put on something fancier than his signature sports apparel. He even does his hair, makes a side part and slicks one part behind his ear, leaves his fringe out on the other side of his forehead. He shows up in black, backless loafers, tan ankle slacks, and a white blouse tucked in. Of course, Minghao comes dressed to dominate the competition; he’s in an oversized baby blue button-up with a black shirt underneath, black skinny jeans, and toe-point boots. He’s got a pair of sunglasses worth more than Jihoon’s existence perched on his head. Soonyoung is dressed similarly, but in yellows.

The show is held in an aged, brick building, framed photographs hanging on the walls with nameplates installed beside them. Not much else. And it feels as if the entire arts department came in their finest vintage pieces, holding champagne flutes and chatting with the artists as if they have something to contribute. It takes no time for Jihoon and the others to find Jeonghan near the far corner, standing close to a girl with a black, shoulder-length bob. There are other girls and a few scatter of guys with them.

“Hanie,” Hansol greets as they approach. He’s wearing a white button up and black dress pants — simple and very unlike his normal style. Jihoon was starting to think he was bald under all those beanies. “I hear you have someone to introduce us to?”

Minghao giggles, one arm around Soonyoung’s waist. Might as well skip the middle man and surgically attach it there. “You don’t waste any time, huh? Got somewhere to go after this?”

“He’s nosy,” Jeonghan says with an eye roll. Then his face softens as he presses a palm to the small of Eunjin’s back. “This is Ahn Eunjin-ssi. She’s also a photography and art design major.”

Eunjin smiles and waves at them before she bows, lined eyes tracking over each face. “Hi,” she says. “It’s nice to meet finally meet his friends. He talks a lot about you guys.” Jeonghan flushes and nudges her with an elbow, earning a nudge and laugh of his own.

“Hi,” Soonyoung cheers. He bows along with the other men. “I’m Kwon Soonyoung. You’re very pretty.”

Hansol bursts into a laugh, fist to mouth. “Don’t flirt with his girl, dude. C’mon.”

Jeonghan and Eunjin both go red at ‘his girl’, exchanging reluctant glances.

After they introduce themselves to her, Eunjin gathers her own friends to introduce the boys to them next. Then. It’s kinda funny how quickly Jihoon navigates to one of the girls — Park Junghyun — once everyone’s acquainted and mingling. Funny, but also to be expected; Junghyun is a petite (AKA shorter than him! Yes! Perfect!) music composition major with long, ink black hair and a pretty smile. Jihoon’s type.

In women, at least. His type in men? To be determined.

Long story short, Jihoon breaks off from the group to mingle with Junghyun alone. The two glide from piece to piece, barely sparing a glance as they talk and lean close. “How are you a music comp major,” Jihoon is saying. “And I’ve never seen you before? I definitely would’ve noticed you by now.”

Junghyun covers her laugh with a hand. Mission accomplished. Sometimes Jihoon forgets how good he is at pulling. “No idea,” she says. “Maybe music comp minors only take the intro classes?”

Jihoon has one hand in the pocket of his slacks, the other holding a flute. They falter in front of a greyscale photograph of a woman’s back. “Minors don’t take only intro classes. We take the higher level ones, too, thank you very much,” he answers in mock-offense. He’s rewarded with another laugh.

“I ‘dunno, then,” she says. “It’s a miracle we never met.”

“Right? Good thing Jeonghan started dating Eunjin noona.”

Junghyun stops walking altogether, rotating in her flats to face him. Her blue babydoll dress flows halfway down her thighs, the plunging neckline unveiling an expanse of white skin. Jihoon wills his eyes to stay above the neck; picking up chicks is a sensitive science, one wrong move ruins it, blah blah blah, Jihoon has memorized this song and dance by now. He can keep it in his pants for however long it takes.

“Why? Otherwise we never would’ve found each other?” She teases, punctuates it with the tip of her tongue sticking out between her teeth.

Oh. So cute. This could be good. This could be dangerous.

Jihoon swings one leg forward, taking a slow step closer to her. Close enough to look down at her. “Yes — but less cheesy,” he says in a lower voice. Her eyelids flutter. “If you give me your number we can fix that, though.”

And then she’s hooked. Jihoon gives himself endless (metaphorical) pats on the back throughout the rest of the evening. Even gets to put an arm around her waist, taking a page from The Lovebirds’ book, when she points out one of her favorite pictures: a little girl lying in grass, grinning up at the camera. There’s a flash that obscures half her face. _What makes you like this one so much?_ Jihoon asks while his arm snakes across her back.

“Reminds me of when I was a kid,” Junghyun mutters, distracted. “Nostalgia, I guess.”

The night ends with a prolonged hug. Eunjin and Jihoon’s friends meander out on the sidewalk, other guests filing out around them. Jihoon thanks Junghyun for a good night with his mouth against the side of her head. Her hair smells like the beach — calming, warm. And her breath tickles his shoulder when she lets out a breathless laugh and says, “Likewise. You’re, ah. Inquisitive. Was fun talking about the photos with you.”

They rock side to side tangled in one another until Hansol barks, “Stop flirting and let’s go, dude!” from down the sidewalk. He doesn’t leave before getting her number.

Jihoon learns a lot about Junghyun over the week. Their first kinda-sorta date is in the campus’ music practice rooms, them taking turns playing whatever pieces they memorized on the baby grand piano. She teaches him one that she had to play at her most recent recital, shakes her fists with glee when he catches on after only two listens.

“Your memory’s incredible,” she sighs dreamily. “I’m so jealous.”

If only. He wants to memorize her enthralled half-smile, take it with him in his weakest moments. But his brain is very selective, only keeps the _that’s what this is? yeah_. The _Yes, god, yes, wanted that for years, Hoon_ ; and — especially — the _I love you Jihoonie. Glad I met you_.

“Sometimes,” he says aloud.

* * *

Junghyun’s room smells like patchouli incense. Her decorations are surprisingly sparse, stocked with the essentials and not much more: a bed with teal sheets, a study desk, a dresser of old notebooks, a piano and acoustic guitar, a teal rug, a TV and its stand. No family pictures or collages of friends hanging up on the wall, no scatter of perfumes, lotion, deodorant,forgotten clothes. And, to no surprise, she matches her room well: direct, straight to the point, no hidden meanings or guess work required.

The essentials and not much more. Her music takes care of the details.

“Physics,” Junghyun parrots. She’s sitting up in her bed, blanket bunched up around her waist. Her bare expanse of skin disappears under the sheet. “I see why they wanted you to declare that… but I don’t think you’ll need it.”

Jihoon remains lying back on the bed, his own bare body hidden; he keeps the blanket tucked under his arms. “Why would I not need it? I could make sweet money with that degree.”

“Do you plan to get a masters in physics?”

He falters. “Um. No.” The mere thought of more school has his stomach doing somersaults. And not the fun kind.

“Then ’sweet’ money is unlikely,” she says. “Unless you have an internship or two lined up.”

As cutthroat as usual. Jihoon honestly likes this about her. “Yeah… no internships yet. But it’s my best bet at getting a job. Minghao agrees with my mom, told me I needed a back up plan.”

Junghyun blinks down at him. Her hair is a haloed mess around her face, eyeliner smudged under her eyes. “You don’t need it,” she repeats, softer now. “With the way you sing and compose? No way in hell you’re using that physics degree.”

Jihoon falters to consider it. She says this with so much conviction, but — “I was already rejected. Many times. I sent my stuff to entertainment companies before my first year.”

“Would you say the music you made in high school is _exactly_ the same as the music you’re making now?”

Another pause. Jihoon shifts around under the blanket, the skin of his thigh meeting hers. “Uh. Well. _No_ , it’s not, but. I ‘dunno. It’s risky.”

Junghyun leans over to lay herself against his side. “What’s there to lose? The physics degree is happening at this point. If you get rejected again,” she shrugs, “then you get rejected again.”

They’re staring at one another. And. He hadn’t considered that. Why hadn’t he considered that? He’s in his third year. With Minghao’s help, the degree is practically in his hands already. So, yeah, there’s nothing to lose. Nothing to lose…

He could kiss her, with how elated her words makes him. And he decides that he will, indeed, kiss her, right before his phone vibrates several times under his other arm. Junghyun sleepily watches him fish his phone from its damp constraints and tap the screen on.

Hǎo Minghao: _dont forget you fuckers. wine & movie night at mine!! if you’re late im blocking your number!_

Hǎo Minghao: _and instagram!_

Speak of the devil.

Jeonghanie: _god yes i could use some wine rn. this semester is gonna MURDER me_

Jeonghanie: _pulling on my pants and will be there asap_

white people call him vernon: [thumbs up emoji]

Jihoon re-reads the texts, thumbs hovering over the keyboard, then begins to type.

Jihoon: _so_.

Jihoon: _um_.

Jihoon: _i gotta take a raincheck. having a sleepover._

The group chat blinks like crazy with a rapid succession of texts.

white people call him vernon: _WORD?_

white people call him vernon: _are you having a sleepover with who i think youre having a sleepover with??????_

Soonyoung [blonde man emoji]: _holy shit. hoonie is getting pussy before me. what the fuck_.

Jeonghanie: _finally SOMEONE is fucking chicks in this gc_

Jeonghanie: _other than me_

white people call him vernon: _i guess somi’s a dude LMAO_

Hǎo Minghao: _I can make an exception for this. :) Jihoonie’s still got game_

Jihoon rolls his eyes, traitorous cheeks burning hot.

Jihoonie: _never lost it tyvm. drink an extra glass of wine for me kekekeke_

He puts his phone facedown on the nightstand before he can get distracted going back and forth with them. When he turns to ask Junghyun if she wants to watch a movie, he’s greeted with her sleep-slack face. Okay. The sleepover’s started early. That’s fine.

Jihoon gets comfortable and closes his eyes, too.

* * *

Jihoon goes back to Busan one weekend. He and Minghao finish his assignments that Thursday so that he can visit his parents and be a lazy bum without schoolwork hanging over his head. Truly, it’s because he feels awful not going home over the summer break. They’d been looking forward to having their only child with them for the few weeks before he returns to hell (read: university), but he’d selfishly holed himself up in his apartment to agonize over stupidity.

“Not stupid,” Minghao tells him. They’re alone in a study room that Thursday evening, three hours worth of assignments completed. Jihoon’s hand is cramping up. “What you’re dealing with can be _debilitating_ , dude. Don’t berate yourself for taking the time to heal.”

A 140 IQ prophet. “You should work part time as a therapist,” Jihoon replies on a shy laugh.

So he tries not to feel sorry about it. He’s making up for lost time, anyway, and his chest fills with tender warmth when his mother tugs him into a hug as soon as she sees him. Like his father, she’s not a very physically affectionate person. Old age has loosened her up.

Sleeping in his childhood bedroom doesn’t hurt nearly as much as he thought it would. There’s definitely residual pain — it hasn’t been long enough for Jihoon to say he’s whole again — but not soul crushing. Instead the nostalgia holds down on his throat, constricting his airways. He breathes through his mouth, back on the mattress, eyes on the glow in the dark stars on his ceiling.

This is the ‘reset’ that he should’ve been doing all along. Not his futile attempts to roll back the clock in hope that feelings could be unfelt, mistakes could be unmade. He may have said his life is a romcom movie in jest, but in reality there’s no movie. There’s no reverse button on a remote. There isn’t even a Lee Jihoon’s Worst Decisions highlight reel. He created them to compartmentalize and numb the emotions he’d been afraid to let himself feel for _god_ knows how long. Since junior high, maybe.

An actual reset is accepting what happened, what he’d done, the consequences, and not running and avoiding places and people and things to avoid the hurt. Because here are the facts: friends come and go. First love seldom ends happily. Not everyone he likes will like him back. New friends can be made, new relationships can blossom. Jihoon will be okay.

A bedroom can’t haunt him anymore.

* * *

Despite their frequent texts and hangouts, Junghyun seldom spends time with him when he’s with his friends. Eunjin, on the other hand, swings by their dining hall table frequently, molding her place in the friend group with little effort. Jihoon thinks she matches Jeonghan’s dry, blunt humor perfectly; her retorts are quick, she talks to them as if she’s known them for years, and she keeps PDA to a minimum. If only Minghao and Soonyoung could learn something from her.

“Please come,” Eunjin tells them. They’re at their table in between lectures, taking a much-needed study break. Eunjin slides a thin stack of flyers over to the other boys, eyes wide and pleading. “I can tell this is an artsy clique. Promise it’ll be worth it.” She’s wearing denim overalls splattered with an array of colors. Up close, Jihoon can tell it’s manmade paint-splotches.

Hansol, Soonyoung, Minghao, and Jihoon take one each. “For charity?” Hansol asks rhetorically. “I’m down. No doubt.”

The campus’ film and arts club is hosting an auction out on the lounge lawn and inside adjacent study halls. _Relax and buy pieces made by your classmates! Food trucks will be available all day. Come support the cause, hangout, and play games!,_ the flyer says. “A lot of the social art majors signed up to sell their stuff. We’re trying to help fund high school art departments,” Eunjin explains as they read. “Entry is free, but we’d be so grateful for any donation.”

“Can we auction our work if we’re not art majors?” Minghao glances over the flyer to look at her. “I’m in STEM, but I have some paintings I can sell.”

“Ming Ming’s incredible,” Soonyoung insists. He ignores Jeonghan’s immediate, non-subtle gag. “Y’could probably get, like, 250K won from _one_ piece.”

Minghao rolls his eyes, but his dopey grin contradicts it. “He’s exaggerating. But, yeah, I’d love to help.”

Eunjin beams. It seems almost mindless when she reaches out and grabs Jeonghan’s hand in her excitement. “Of course you can! I can text you the form to fill out.” She lets go just as fast as she grabbed him, goes on a frantic search for her phone. “I know the perfect tent you can set up in. Hold on. . .”

“Photography’s gonna go around taking pictures,” Jeonghan explains as he watches her rummage through her parcel bag. “I’ll be out there with my Canon. Come find me and I’ll make sure you’re on the front page of the website, get your fifteen minutes of fame.”

Saturday beginning at two, Jihoon reads. “Sounds good. I don’t have much else to do.”

His phone rattles the table, _Junghyunie [musical note emoji]_ popping up on the screen.

“Except for her,” Jeonghan quips, then cackles along with Minghao and Soonyoung.

Jihoon groans. “You’re the worst, y’know that?”

“I know.”

He retrieves his phone and opens the text while Eunjin provides Minghao more information regarding the form and tent and whatever else he needs to do. Nothing that requires Jihoon’s attention. He heart reacts Junghyun’s _party in study room 302A haha_ , then goes on to respond.

Jihoon: _im sure you already heard about the charity thing on saturday. you going?_

Junghyunie [musical note emoji]: _I’ll be there closer to 5 or 6. My mom called for a mandatory family lunch. Oof_

Junghyunie [musical note emoji]: _What, were you asking me to be your date? hahaha_

“Wow,” Eunjin is gasping at Minghao’s phone screen. “You painted that? How are you _not_ an art major?”

“He can do everything, dude,” Hansol says on a laugh. “You’ll get used to it soon.”

Jihoon: _ofc I was kekekeke_.

Jihoon: _ok I understand family is important. see you later on saturday maybe?_

Jeonghan furrows his brows at Hansol. “Did you just call Eunjinie _dude_? Weirdo.”

“Yeah,” Hansol shrugs, a forkful of pasta suspended halfway to his mouth. “Dude is genderless. Don’t be sexist.”

“Homophobic _and_ sexist,” Soonyoung says dryly. “Such a catch.”

Jeonghan is stopped from leaping over the table to give Soonyoung whiplash only by Eunjin’s fist on the back of his shirt. “Sit, boy,” she’s giggling. “He’d kick your skinny ass.”

Jihoon spares the ensuing chaos a bored glance. 

Junghyunie [musical note emoji]: _See you tonight, though. I’ll bring a Coke in exchange for your services hahahaha_

“You have no faith in me!”

“I do! Just not in fighting! Soonyoung has those biceps and I’d rather not watch my boyfriend get pummeled.”

Jihoon: _keke you had me at coke_

Jihoon: _the drink. coke as in the drink._

Hansol perks up. “Boyfriend? You two sealed the deal?”

“It was so obvious,” Minghao says. “I saw them outside the library yesterday moaning about how they’ll miss each other. They were gonna be apart for one night. One.”

This time Eunjin has to hold Jeonghan back from throttling Minghao.

* * *

“Do you think we’re moving too fast?”

Jihoon looks up from the sheet music. His pen hovers over a line mid-lyric. “Do you?”

Junghyun is worrying her glossy bottom lip, a nervous hand raking through her hair. It tumbles over one shoulder like a waterfall, covering the _Seoul Film Festival_ letters on her tee shirt. “I’m. I’m not sure?” She continues raking. It’s a little distracting. “I didn’t think I’d like hanging out with you so much?”

Well. Lyric writing is postponed. He slowly lowers the pen onto the paper. “Do you feel rushed?”

A concerning pause. Rake, rake, rake. Jihoon follows her slender fingers as they disappear and reappear through her hair. “No? Ah. Eunjin unnie. She and Jeonghan-ssi are, um. Official. And she tells me about how she hangs out with you and his other friends a lot.”

For the first time since he’s known her (which isn’t very long), she’s not getting to the point. Jihoon doesn’t want to play twenty questions, but his curiosity always gets the better of him. “You think meeting my friends is moving too fast?”

“No? I met them when I met you, but. Um. I guess I’m just a private person.” Rake, rake. “If I’m not, um, serious? With somebody I like keeping the friend groups — friends? — separate?”

Jihoon’s mind flickers through every time she’d turned down invitations to movie nights or dining hall meet ups over the past few weeks. Okay. She doesn’t want things to get messy. Incase it turns out that they don’t end up becoming exclusive? Jihoon can understand and appreciate that, considering how his own friend group was rocked by… a mess of unrequited feelings and resentment. But, at the same time, it feels kinda extreme. Privacy taken to the next level. Which, again, is totally fine. Just new.

He’s reminded of her sparse decorations, her lack of pictures. The little girl that brings nostalgia. The sheet music that embodies vulnerability.

“Junghyun,” he starts. “If you feel rushed, it’s okay. I didn’t mean to make you feel like that.” She stops raking, hands folding in her lap. “I’m fine where we are. Friends.”

Hints of a nervous smile breaks through. “Yeah. Cool. Friends.” She shifts her seat at an angle, getting a better view of the piece they’re working on. “Sorry.”

Jihoon isn’t sure if placing his hand on top of hers is in the realm of ‘friends’. He decides to nudge her with an elbow instead. “Don’t apologize. We’re good.” Friends. He’s an expert at that role.

She’s staring at the sheet in front of them when she answers, “I don’t mean we can’t be, um, _more_ in the future.” He keeps his eyes leveled on the profile of her face. “I just like getting to know people better. Does that make sense?”

 _That_ he can work with. “Yeah. Slow. Very, very slow. So slow we can start dating when we’re 30. Hopefully I can graduate to hanging out with your friends at 40. Parents at 45.”

Junghyun laughs so hard her cheeks turn the rosy shade of her lips.

* * *

“I’m afraid of getting hurt.”

Jihoon blinks her into focus through the dark. “An ex.” It’s not a question. He watches her nod against the pillow. “Me too.”

Junghyun runs her fingertips down his arm, probably her way of trying to console him. Tingles are left in their wake. “Afraid of getting hurt?”

“Yeah.” Something about the dark encourages vulnerability. “You’re afraid of commitment?”

Her fingertips falter. Then they’re gone. “Yeah.”

“You’re not over him.”

The only place she can’t hide is in her music. She must’ve anticipated this — wanted this — when she let him read her incomplete portfolio. The sheets of half-written lyrics. And Jihoon felt it, the way it burns, when he’d easily finished the thoughts she’d begun. _I can see you in their faces_ , she’d scribbled. _I can feel you in my bed_ , he’d answered.

“Yeah.”

She’s erased him. The bed, notes, dresser, rug, empty walls — lone survivors. The things that don’t matter are gone.

Jihoon exhales through his nose, screws his eyes shut. “Okay.”

* * *

Saturday can be described as the two, dreaded H-words: Hot and Humid. Jihoon, the fucking genius that he is, wears a snapback with the bill shoved low over his eyes, an oversized tee shirt, Nike shorts, and sandals. Not the most attractive look, but Jihoon’s way past the point of caring. The sun is _relentless_.

The turn out for the auction is impressive. The green of the lawn is practically engulfed by hoards of students, the white tents, the speakers blasting family-friendly pop. And Jihoon’s been out there, in misery, an hour before it began helping Minghao carry his paintings from the car and setting up his tent. Soonyoung and Hansol were there to make the job faster, Jeonghan busy deciding how to divide and conquer with the photography club. Jihoon’s seen them in passing, but now that he has the time to admire the finished pieces, he can’t help but sing Minghao’s praises.

“You weren’t lying,” he tells an already sweaty Soonyoung. “These are amazing.” One is a splatter of colors — blues and greens, yellows and purples and reds. It’s an organized chaos that gives way to a silhouette of a person. Genderless, both formless and cohesive. His second one is what looks like a swampy landscape stretching out into a red sky. There are cranes in the water and birds gliding mid-flight; what appears to be a man is painted closest in perspective, wearing a sunhat and loose, light-colored clothes.

Minghao comes up to stand next to Jihoon, admiring the same painting he is. “China,” he says, pointing to it. “Guangxi. Soonyoung and I visited the countryside.” Soonyoung falters where he’s fixing one of the poles so that the roof of the tent stands higher, watches them.

“Is that Soonyoung?” Jihoon nods his head towards the painted man.

“Yeah. It’s inspired from a photo I took; I can show you it later.”

Of course. Soonyoung. China. His home and home away from home.

Then they’re an hour into the event, streams of art students keep ambling up to gush and listen to Minghao explain his creative genius, and Soonyoung and Jihoon are huddled under the tent, in the shade, chugging bottles of water and trying not to sizzle. Thank the lord Soonyoung had the foresight to bring lawn chairs, because after standing and working Jihoon’s knees are starting to buckle. The two sit behind the table with the mini cash-register, watching the back of Minghao’s head as he chats away.

“How does it feel?” Jihoon asks after polishing off his water. He tosses the empty bottle into a trash bag beside him. “Knowing you’re gonna be up on some stranger’s wall? And they won’t even know it’s you?”

Soonyoung shrugs. He sweats really easily, is so wet his grey tee shirt is damp at his abdomen. His blonde fringe looks like strings plastered to his forehead. “Pretty cool, honestly. I’m, like, _art_ now. People will see my handsome back on a canvas and ask, who is _that_?”

Jihoon’s eye roll is visceral. “Sure, yeah, that’ll definitely happen. Can’t believe I’m friends with art.”

“You’re being sarcastic, but watch. One of these hipster chicks will ask Ming about me and we’ll lock eyes and she’ll fall in love with me.” Soonyoung grins triumphantly at Jihoon, his eyes disappearing behind his cheeks. “I’m gonna leave here with a girl’s number. Or two. Or three. Wait and see.”

“Minghao’s more likely to leave with numbers before you,” Jihoon counters, snorting. “Half the fucking event is over here.”

Hyperbolic, sure, but not entirely untrue. The auction under their tent is in full swing, and so far the first painting — the colorful, genderless piece that Minghao named _Who We Are_ — is at 123K. An hour in. Does the man have _any_ weaknesses?

Jihoon must’ve asked that aloud, because Soonyoung is answering, “Lots,” with an exhausted sigh. “When he’s really mad he gives me the silent treatment. And sometimes I wanna rant and he keeps trying to, like, give me advice and stuff… _and_ because he grew up, like, filthy rich he has no idea how much shit costs.” He frowns as if retrieving bad memories. “Once my car battery died and I couldn’t pay for it and he was like, _your mom can’t give you any money?_ Dude. My mom isn’t made of money. Dumb rich kid.”

Jihoon titters, smirking at Soonyoung. “Damn, dude. Tell me how you really feel.”

Soonyoung leans back in the lawn chair and — ironically enough — puts Minghao’s designer sunglasses on. “You asked.”

That he did. Yeah, okay, Minghao isn’t a flawless human being, but he’s closer to it than any of them. Jihoon more so than the others. “Thanks to the Dumb Rich Kid, you never have to worry about rent being paid, though,” Jihoon says. “And you basically travel for free. You’re like Dumb Rich Kid’s sugar baby.”

“Ew,” Soonyoung grimaces. Jihoon can’t see his eyes anymore, but the pout to his lips and furrowed brows shows his disgust. “Let’s _not_. He pays the rent and I pay the bills and groceries and stuff; no sugar babying here.”

“Sure, sure,” Jihoon says, then laughs and leaps up when Soonyoung tries to punch him on the arm. “Hey! Your sugar daddy’s gonna get my hospital bill if you break a bone!”

Soonyoung chases Jihoon out of the tent, ends his pursuit when Jihoon is swallowed up in the crowd. Well. Officially extricated from the other two, now’s a good time as any to peruse, check out what the other students are displaying for sale. Jihoon drifts down the aisles of tents, surrounded by loud chatter and muted music. In summary — everyone is more talented artistically than Jihoon ever will be. He paints sometimes, but his projects dull in comparison to the vendors. Some of the illustrations are so realistic Jihoon’s mistaken them for _pictures_. Depictions of parks, mountains, people mid-laugh, the ripples in a lake. And then there’s the handmade figurines, a mermaid made out of plastic bottles (probably a statement on how pollution is killing sea life), bracelets, necklaces, and other random trinkets.

Jihoon wanders about for maybe half an hour before he comes across Hansol. He’s at a tent closest to the food trucks, chatting with a guy that has handmade clothes for sale. “No, sir, nope,” the guy is saying when Jihoon comes into earshot. “I don’t ever use anything from thrift shops. Only, like, clothes in the lost and found that hadn’t been picked up in a couple months, hand me downs my friends give me, stuff found around the city — yeah. I wash them three or four times and then repurpose them. Like this one…”

Hansol briefly acknowledges Jihoon with a smile before turning his attention back to the vendor. He takes the patched, plaid shirt from the guy, feels the material between his fingers. Holes are filled in with patterns from other cloths, stitched in a way that makes it seem intentional. “This is sweet, man,” Hansol says to it. “I love this.”

Vendor beams. “Thanks. A lot of my wardrobe is repurposed. Any little thing helps say fuck you to the fashion industry.” Hansol nods his agreement, and gets lost in the other designs Vendor hands to him and explains.

Jihoon is not shocked in the least that this is where Hansol ended up. He’s gonna befriend the entire campus at this point. Jihoon doesn’t walk away, so Vendor begins to address both of them while he gives the history of each piece. He humors them until Vendor gets distracted with a few other students that approach the tent, then Jihoon turns to Hansol, who is now admiring a pair of jean shorts. The pockets are made out of red plaid.

“I gotta buy this,” Hansol says. “Isn’t it cool as fuck?” He lifts it up higher.

Jihoon pretends to give it thought. “Very cool, dude.” Not his style, but he can appreciate a good stitch job when he sees one. “You hungry, any? I kinda want a hotdog.”

“I can eat,” Hansol says. “Lemme buy this first. And that shirt. And this bracelet.”

Another twenty minutes, and finally Hansol is walking away with his purchases in a brown paper bag. (“No plastic here,” Vendor said as he handed it off to Hansol. Hansol obviously liked that.) The line for the hot dog truck is long as fuck, but a hungry Jihoon is a determined Jihoon — and Hansol is a good sport and down for pretty much anything — so he gets in the back and waits.

“How’s Minghao doing? Get a lot of offers?”

“Are you kidding? He’s the star of the event,” Jihoon scoffs, crossing his arms. His snapback isn’t doing much to protect him from the sun’s abuse. “When I left somebody bet 123K; _has_ to be at 200K by now.”

Hansol whistles. “Man. That’s insane. I need to go check it out.”

“Definitely do. He’s about to have groupies like Chan, and Soonie’s gonna be so mad.” Jihoon and Hansol both laugh at the thought — Soonyoung once again not getting any chicks despite his efforts — and then Jihoon retrieves his phone from his shorts pocket when it buzzes against his thigh. _Junghyunie [musical note emoji]_.

Hansol looks over his shoulder, smirking. “Speaking of,” he says. “How are you and Junghyun? Everything good?”

Jihoon unlocks his phone. _Family lunch ended early. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. How is it?_

“We’re, uh,” Jihoon says. “Taking things slow. We talked about needing more time to get to know one another before we commit to anything.” _very, very crowded keke_ , he types. _but it’s super cool. a lot of talented people._

The line moves up a little, and they both move along with it. There are already ten people behind them. Hansol watches him text, nods and says, “That’s a good idea. Somi and I were friends for a while before I asked her out. She told me she wanted to be friends first and then move up from there.”

“Yeah, I’m cool with it,” Jihoon says. “It’s best I move slow, too. I wanna do things right.” _Ooh I can’t wait! You with your friends?_ Junghyun responds. “Her ex was an asshole apparently and made her scared to date.”

Another step closer to the food truck. “If anyone can show her not all college dudes are assholes,” Hansol says. “It’s you.”

Jihoon wonders if Hansol has a shitty short term memory and doesn’t remember that he was complicit in another guy’s relationship falling apart (and coming together again, he surmises), but doesn’t say anything to that. He smiles tight-lipped and rocks a shoulder into Hansol in his silent thanks. Hansol returns the shoulder-knock, then fishes his own phone out. His screen is littered with unread texts. Popular, indeed.

Jihoon: _i am. is that ok? we don’t have to hang out with them and do our own thing_

Junghyunie [musical note emoji]: _No, it’s okay. I’m fine with spending time with them._

He blinks slowly at the text thread.

Jihoon: _you sure?_

The line moves forward. Now they’re maybe five away from the front. Jihoon follows along without looking away from his phone.

Junghyunie [musical note emoji]: _Yeah. No need to wait until 40 anymore hahahaha. See you soon. <3_

Something in his chest swells (his heart. It’s his heart). The fear of vulnerability is reciprocated; she’s going to be brave with him. They’re going to fight their insecurities together. “She’s on her way,” he says. This is almost too good to be true.

“Yeah?” Hansol is busy texting, his snapback shielding half his face. “Lucky bastard. Wish my girlfriend was here.”

Finally, _finally_ , they’re at the head of the line, and they purchase hotdogs for themselves and for the other three men; Jihoon orders a cold bottle of Coke and practically moans once he takes the first gulp. So good.

Hansol and Jihoon stand off to the side, wolfing down their food, before Hansol says, “We should go give them their hotdogs before they get soggy.” Then it’s a hunt for Minghao and Soonyoung (easy, since the tent is stationary).

“I don’t eat hotdogs,” Minghao scrunches his nose up at the foil-wrapped hotdog Hansol extends to him. “But thanks for thinking of me.”

“Everyday it’s a new food you don’t eat,” Hansol rolls his eyes, absently lets Soonyoung snatch the hotdog out of his hand. “Diva.”

Minghao turns away from him and back towards a group of girls wanting to give an offer on his second piece. “You have me mistaken for Jeonghan. Anyway — hello, ladies! The current bet on this one is . . .”

Soonyoung scarfs down Minghao’s hotdog, his own untouched in his other hand. “I’m his garbage disposal,” he says around a mouthful of ‘dog. Jihoon and Hansol lean away as pieces of bread fly out. “Anything he doesn’t want is mine.”

“Alright, garbage disposal, don’t talk with a full mouth,” Hansol laughs. Soonyoung bursts into laughter, too, and Jihoon and Hansol shriek and shuffle around the tent to escape the chunks of half-eaten food. “Dude! C’mon!”

Jihoon has taken refuge on the other side of the table, closest to Minghao and his enthralled audience, when Junghyun materializes through a sea of onlookers. “There you are,” she says, giggling. “Eunjin unnie told me you guys were at the most popular tent, so I just followed the madness.”

Soonyoung and his dangerous hotdog bullets are promptly forgotten, because Junghyun is standing there, in front of him, in a baby blue tee shirt tucked into shorts and a matching baby blue snapback on her head, her ink black ponytail swinging in the back. He’d nearly forgotten how pretty she is, mentally kicks himself for it. “It’s a circus over here,” he says, and mentally soothes the place he kicked himself as a reward for how nonchalant his voice sounds. “Be careful of flying food.”

Junghyun laughs, lined eyes shifting towards Soonyoung and Hansol acting like fucking idiots inside the tent. “Flying food?”

Jihoon hooks an arm around her waist, taking her behind the table and away from the crowd and heat. “Soonyoung over here can’t eat normally to save his life,” he nods towards the blonde man in question. “And Hansol keeps making him laugh. Hence the flying food."

“Oh, c’mon, dude,” Soonyoung groans once his bite is swallowed. “Don’t embarrass me in front of a pretty girl.”

“You embarrass yourself,” Hansol quips. He cackles and ducks when Soonyoung pretends to toss his second hotdog at him.

Junghyun is still laughing, leans into Jihoon as he holds her tighter. “Your friends are silly.”

“Stupid,” Jihoon corrects. “You can say stupid. It’s okay.”

Then Soonyoung tries to right his wrongs, apologizing to Junghyun for his ‘unmanly behavior’ while holding one of her hands in both of his and bowing. Hansol shoves at Soonyoung and accuses him of flirting with ‘Jihoon’s girl’ (Jihoon and Junghyun squirm uncomfortably at this), and Jihoon takes the opportunity to collect the final hotdog and Sprite bottle. “Anyone know where Jeonghan is?” he asks. “I’m gonna drop this off to him real quick.”

“Probably wherever Eunjin unnie is,” Junghyun says. “Which is over at the main tent. I’ll go with you.”

Jihoon extracts her hand from Soonyoung’s, playfully pulls Junghyun into his arms and frowns at Soonyoung. “Find your own,” he says, and the three laugh. “Jeonghan needs some food. We’ll be right back.”

“Don’t be gone long,” Hansol calls after them. “Looks like Minghao is gonna sell one.”

“Just text me updates,” Jihoon answers, and then he’s guiding Junghyun around and out of the tent. She hooks an elbow through his as they navigate through the chaos in an attempt to not lose him; regardless, it has Jihoon’s heart doing dangerous things. “How was lunch?”

He feels Junghyun shrug more than he sees her. “Eh,” she says. “My mom can be really nosy, so it felt like an interview the whole time.”

Jihoon snorts. “Sounds like my mom.”

“You think _your_ mom is upset about your minor?” She says. “Imagine mine when I declared music comp as my major. She is never going to let me live it down.”

“Third years and our moms still won’t give up,” Jihoon says. “At this point I wanna finish my minor out of spite.”

Junghyun laughs into his arm. “Honestly? Likewise.”

The main tent is, thankfully, sparse of people. Most of the action is found deeper onto the lawn. Eunjin and Jeonghan are talking next to the table stacked with booklets and maps and event flyers; Jeonghan has his Canon camera in hand, and Eunjin is playing absently with the strap hanging off of it. It remains jarring to Jihoon to see Jeonghan in a relationship. Never thought the day would come in their university career, with how picky he is.

“Food delivery,” Jihoon cheers once they’re close enough. He extends the hotdog and Sprite to Jeonghan. “You can pay me in Coke. The drink. Coke the drink.”

Jeonghan smirks at Jihoon, takes the hotdog and bottle from him. “That shit’s gonna rot your teeth, dude. I’ll pay you in water instead.” He punctuates the ironic statement with breaking the seal on the Sprite and taking a swig.

“Nice to see you, too.”

Junghyun unhooks herself from Jihoon to drape herself over Eunjin. “Unnie,” she says with a smile. “How’s it going? Busy?”

Eunjin also drapes her arms over Junghyun. “Busy, yeah,” she replies. “But it’s been a big hit. I didn’t expect so many people to come! Glad we had extra tents and vendors.”

“Minghao making the big bucks?” Jeonghan asks Jihoon. He lifts his camera to eye level and snaps a couple of pictures of the two girls hugging. “I heard it’s insane over there.”

Jihoon watches him work. “Insane doesn’t cut it. He’s gonna have groupies and a lot of numbers by the end of the day.”

“Gonna break a lot of hearts,” Jeonghan lowers the camera and turns to Jihoon again. “Considering he’s… ya know.”

“I like how you’re assuming the only numbers he’s gonna get are from chicks,” Jihoon retorts.

Jeonghan lets the camera hang off of his neck and starts on his hotdog. “You’re right. Hadn’t thought of that.” And then he’s eating.

The four take a seat behind the info table and enjoy easy conversation for a little while. It’s beginning to get cooler bit by bit, the sun falling in the sky. Shadows cast across the grass, tall and thin, with the perspective change; Jihoon sighs his relief when nearby tents drape their shadows over them. His sweat is drying on his damp skin, and while he’s thankful to not be so wet anymore (it’s extra embarrassing that Junghyun ran into him looking haggard and miserable), he feels disgusting. A shower is the very next thing on his list upon departure.

Hopefully Junghyun will want to come back to his apartment with him. They can take turns showering. Or shower together. And then wrap themselves up in his bed and create new memories there. Chase away phantoms with their shared happiness.

“Ah, shit,” Jeonghan says, standing up. He’s looking at a text on his phone. “Photography club president wants us to do group shots and I left my tripod in my car.” He frowns apologetically at Eunjin and the other two. “I’ll be right back. Ugh.”

Jihoon grabs his wrist before he can scurry off. “Wait, it’s fine,” he says. “I can grab it for you. Wanted to get the water in my car, anyway. It’s overpriced as fuck over at the food trucks.”

“Yeah,” it’s Eunjin’s turn to look apologetic. “They need a cut of the profits, so we had to hike the prices up.”

“Fair.” Jihoon gets to his feet. “You stay and pretend to work or something.” He meets Junghyun’s eyes. “You want some water?”

She nods. “Please.”

“Me too,” Eunjin says. “I’m a traitor, I know.”

“Same,” Jeonghan says. “Wanting water. Not the traitor part.” He giggles when Eunjin shakes his legs in faux anger.

Jeonghan hands off his keys, and Jihoon salutes them on his way towards the parking lot. “Three waters coming on up!”

He circles the outskirts of the lawn for the sake of simplicity — and freedom from equally sweaty bodies — basking in the breeze that’s come out of hiding. Where was it when he needed it the most? Who knows. But all is forgiven, since it’s here and cooling his overheated skin.

The further he gets away from the event, the more distant the voices and music sound. And the campus is cast in a warm, orange glow as the sun sets at the horizon. He checks his phone for the time. 5:47. Jihoon hadn’t realized how late it got. Feels like he just got here, just finished helping Minghao set up his display.

A good thing, he supposes. Time goes fast when you’re busy. Jihoon gets to the packed parking lot; there is a very sparse scatter of students loitering by their cars, some talking, some blatantly flirting. New challenge: finding Jeonghan’s Hyundai in a 100-car parking lot. And then his own car, since he doesn’t remember where he parked it.

Thankfully, the hunt isn’t as daunting as it felt; Jihoon finds Jeonghan’s Hyundai in record time, in the back row, unlocks it, and goes on the search for his tripod. It’s uncharacteristically a mess in there, abandoned scrap paper, notebooks, graded papers, and fast food containers lying about. Eunjin must be sucking up so much of his time that he can’t clean up in there… Jihoon makes a mental note to tease the fuck out of him when he gets back.

Despite how unclean the car is, Jihoon can’t find the tripod. He crawls out of the back seat and closes the door. Has to be in the trunk. He lifts the keys and presses a button, releases it only when the trunk pops up. And — bingo. There it is, pristine and fancy in all the ways Jeonghan’s car isn’t. Jihoon lifts it up and out, then uses his elbow to close the trunk. Challenge completed. Second challenge: get the water so they’re not forced to purchase some from the vendors and get robbed.

Jihoon turns around, triumphantly holding the tripod, and manages to take two steps before he has to stop.

Has to stop, because he’s suddenly come across a ghost, and albeit there’s plenty of space to circumvent it, he feels confused. Very confused. Like his eyes are playing tricks on him or the heat is making him delirious. But — no — there’s a ghost standing in front of him with a polaroid camera in hand, with its hair darker and shorter and in loose waves, with tan skin and backless oxfords.

No.

“Jihoon,” Kim Mingyu says. He’s even more handsome with the sun baking him in orange — an orange that compliments his skin tone.

Kim Mingyu. No. No?

Suddenly Jihoon can’t remember what he’s doing. Where he is. Who’s expecting his return, and what they’re expecting him to bring. He can’t even remember to breathe or blink. This has to be a fucking ghost. Because there’s _no_ fucking way Kim Mingyu is here, actually looking and talking to him. Jihoon is going crazy, has officially lost his mind. He’s hallucinating. He has to be. It’s a very strange, very random time to start slipping off from reality — he expected it to be during, like, the _worst_ of it — so. So, Jesus fucking christ, this can’t be real, this can’t —

“This is probably a bad time,” the ghost of Kim Mingyu is saying, using his deep voice and inching his eyebrows together wearily. “But. Like. I didn’t think a good time existed anymore.” His inflection makes it sound more like a question than a statement.

The walls are broken. Everything is flooding in at once. The _that’s what this is? yeah_. and the _Yes, god, yes, wanted that for years, Hoon_ ; and — especially — the _I love you Jihoonie. Glad I met you_. But, more than that, those, there’s the rush of memories, of the nights spent on his stiff couch because his bed was haunted; the days sobbing so hard he gave himself multi-day tension headaches; the unanswered texts that he sent in desperation; the feeling like the pain was going to fucking kill him or send him into a panic attack — whichever came first. Maybe both. The mental pain that felt physical. The, fuck, I love you Jihoonie. _Fuck_.

Jihoon shakes his head, two little jerks. “No,” he hears himself say. He feels disembodied, and not in the way he was in his kitchen so many months ago. “No. Go away.”

It’s not a ghost. Jihoon can’t lie anymore; he’s committed himself to doing the right thing. This is the real Kim Mingyu, in the parking lot, addressing Jihoon and not ignoring him.

“You hate my guts, I know,” Mingyu is saying, tone tilting towards frantic. “But I need you to hear —“

“Go away,” Jihoon repeats louder. “Get away from me, Mingyu.” The sound of his name rolling off his tongue is almost as daunting as coming face to face with him again. He’d avoided saying it for what feels like forever, even refused to say it inside of his head, and yet. Yet the name is finally said aloud, and with it comes a deeper rush of… anger.

Anger. The anger he felt the night he caught Mingyu texting Chan. And Soonyoung still being in touch. And Jihoon’s phone being dry, dry despite _Minggu_ never coming off vibrate after all this time. _Minggu_ on vibrate and _nothing_.

“Please,” Mingyu’s voice sounds muted with the rage ringing in Jihoon’s ears. “Let me say this and I’ll go.”

But here Mingyu is, deciding for himself to pop back up into Jihoon’s life, always deciding for himself to do whatever he wants without regard for others. For Jihoon.

“Get the fuck away from me,” Jihoon’s shouting now. Shouting and he doesn’t fucking care. “This — this isn’t _fair_ — get the fuck away from me, Mingyu.”

He’s prided himself on not making mistakes. For the rest of summer and half of fall semester, Jihoon’s been healing and reflecting. No slip ups, no morally questionable decisions, none of it. This time, his filter cannot prevent it. Once the idea crosses Jihoon’s mind, his body twitches to life, an adrenaline rush so powerful stars dance in his vision.

Jihoon releases the tripod and shoves Mingyu. Shoves so hard Mingyu nearly topples over, prevents it at the very last minute. “I _texted_ you — I _wanted_ to talk — and you, you fucking ignored me.” He shoves again, but this time Mingyu catches on and grabs his arms. Jihoon tugs free and swings a fist instead. It lands on Mingyu’s bicep with enough power to harm. Maybe bruise. “You ignored me and now you wanna talk? What the fuck, Mingyu. Fuck you! Go back to Chan or — or fucking Soonyoung. Go back to Chaeyeon, you stupid fuck —“

“I’m sorry,” Mingyu shouts. He grabs the arm Jihoon punched and winces, shies away as Jihoon powers forward. “I needed time, Jihoon, I needed fucking time — I’m sorry, I didn’t — I had to think — Jihoon, _stop_ — “

Jihoon wants him to fight back. Wants Mingyu to knock him the fuck out so he can lose every memory he’s had with Mingyu in it. He wants the mental pain to become physical, as sick as it is to think; he wants. He wants to be happy. Why can’t Mingyu ever let him —

“Why can’t you ever let me be happy?” Jihoon’s voice does a dangerous crack, warning them for the tears bubbling beneath the surface. “I tried so fucking hard to move on — I was moving on, Mingyu. I was — fuck — “ He stops trying to kick Mingyu’s ass, arms flopping helplessly by his sides. The adrenaline is dissipating just as fast as it arrived. “I was finally moving on, so why? Why do you come back at the worst fucking moments? Why did you _ignore_ me?” 

“I blocked your number,” Mingyu answers, no longer shouting. He continues to cower and block his dead arm from anymore assault. “Yours, and — and everyone’s number. I needed time to think, Jihoon. _Please_ listen.”

“Why do you get to decide that? Why is everything done on your time —“

“ — It wasn’t done on my time! Fuck, Jihoon, you could’ve done the same thing and I wouldn’t have — I could’ve understood — but you — “

“You would’ve understood?” Jihoon says incredulously. He’s sweating again, and not from the heat. “Are you fucking kidding me? So I’m the one that’s overreacting? Mingyu. It’s been almost four fucking months. Fuck you, you could’ve texted _one_ sentence, but I’m the — “

“You asked me,” Mingyu uses his deeper voice to his advantage, masking Jihoon’s. “If I loved Chaeyeon. The last time we talked.” This shuts Jihoon up. “I did. I loved her. When I — when we first started dating, I didn’t think I would’ve. But I did.”

How is this helping. Why must Jihoon be subjected to this. What the fuck is happening.

“And when I told her that I. That I cheated,” Mingyu persists. He finally stops covering his arm, stops cowering. “I was — I was fucking heartbroken. She was, and I was. We didn’t talk for a week. And then she — “ He runs a hand through his fringe a few times, almond eyes blinking repeatedly. “She told me she didn’t wanna break up.”

“I don’t want to hear this,” Jihoon says. How can a few sentences obliterate months of hard work? “I was better off with you ignoring me.”

“Wait,” the familiar tilt of panic. “I’m getting to the point, promise. I know it’s my fucking fault, Jihoon, all of it. Hurting her, hurting you. It was me. But I told her I wanted to break up. And I — this sounds so _woe is me_ , but listen — I loved her and I had to take time to get over her. Also. Like.” He falters and runs two hands through his darkened hair. Jihoon doesn’t think he’s breathing. Mingyu’s poked a hole in his lungs, and the air is rushing out. They’re collapsing. “Jihoon. I couldn’t face you. I wanted to months ago — but — but I wasn’t in a good place and I would’ve made things worse.”

“Bullshit.”

“Really,” Mingyu tries. “You’re gonna think I’m being a player, or whatever. But, I really, really, honestly mean this.” More fringe raking and blinking. Jihoon watches Mingyu watch something over his shoulder. “I struggled a lot with how I felt about you. I was. It doesn’t make avoiding you any better. I struggled a lot, because I didn’t know how — I was afraid. Of what it meant.”

Jihoon remains unmoving, not breathing.

“Soonyoung found me on campus one day. And I started talking with him about — about all of it. Us, high school, before Chaeyeon. After.” A soft exhale. “He, like. He helped me work through it. He told me. A lot. About him and Minghao, and — and he made me realize… stuff.”

“Stuff,” Jihoon parrots. His heart is beating so hard he’s genuinely afraid it’s going to jump out and fracture his ribs.

Mingyu takes an audible breath in, chest rising underneath his cream blouse. “My feelings. I… I ended up unblocking your number one night, ‘cause I was — I was gonna text you. I _was_. I was thinking about what to say. And — ugh — I can’t fuckin’ _talk_. “ He rubs a frustrated hand over his face. Jihoon’s legs feel like they’re stuck to the asphalt. Which may be a good thing, since it doesn’t seem like Mingyu’s gonna shut up anytime soon. “Okay. So. I saw your last texts. And honestly. Honestly? It scared the fuck out of me.”

Jihoon bristles. “So you couldn’t say that? You couldn’t say anything? The best option for you was to ignore me? Mingyu — I begged you like an _idiot_.”

“Yes, I fucked up,” Mingyu returns. “It scared me and I decided to keep — yes. To keep avoiding you. It was the shittiest choice ever, but I did it. And I realized. Like. I realized it was because I felt the same way?”

Everything stills around him. No. What? This can’t be real. This is a heat-induced fever dream. Jihoon’s going to blink and Mingyu will be gone and he’ll be on the ground, surrounded by EMS and concerned friends and flashing lights. Jihoon uses the last of his air to say, “Is that a question?” His throat is officially closed for business.

“No. No, it’s not.” Mingyu shifts from foot to foot. For the first time since trying to explain, he looks into Jihoon’s eyes. “I felt the same way. And that’s why I got scared reading… it. Your texts. I talked to Soonyoung a lot. A lot, a lot. So — so that was what I was dealing with. I’m sorry.”

Apologies don’t cut it. Jihoon had cleaned up the mess — _himself_ — and it’s fucking ruined. He. He can barely formulate a coherent sentence.

“That doesn’t make it fair,” Jihoon says, not quite a whisper. “That’s not fair. You said _nothing_. Not a single word. You — you could’ve _said_ that, Mingyu. Am I supposed to say all is forgiven? Did you think this would erase the fucking _hell_ that was the past four months?”

“Of course not,” Mingyu has the audacity to sound flabbergasted. “I told you I fucked up. But that doesn’t change that I needed time. Hoon — I had to — and, again, my fault — had to get over her and come to terms about how I felt about you. I needed ti — “

“One word. One sentence. A fucking note, a flame thrower, morse code, I don’t fucking know. _Something_. Mingyu — “

“I said I fucked up. I fucked up, Jihoon, I fucked up. What do you want me to say?”

“I wanted you to stay away,” Jihoon is shouting again. Mingyu flinches, a twitch of a shoulder and an eye, and it both sedates and further angers him. There’s a disoriented mesh of thoughts spinning in his mind, a new hurricane being created and breaking him. He’s breaking. “I waited. I trusted you and waited. You have no idea how it feels being tossed aside and having to — having to fix yourself. You hurt me so fucking bad, Mingyu. I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t eat — you know how I don’t cry. Ever. But I was crying almost everyday, you fucking _asshole_.” He wrangles with his tears, forces them in so he doesn’t embarrass himself anymore than he already is. Embarrassing himself by admitting to how pathetic he was, he _is_. “And I was _finally_ getting over you. But — now you’re — I was getting over you and you’re here, ruining it.”

“Jihoon.” Mingyu stands there, a blend of oranges and browns, haloed like he’s surreal. A ghost. If only that were true. “I love you.”

It hurts. Jesus fuck, it hurts. “That’s not fair,” Jihoon all but whimpers. “You can’t say that and think that makes up for what you did.”

“I never said it,” Mingyu says. “So I wanted to tell you. It doesn’t make up for it, but nothing I do ever will.”

This is a nightmare and a dream come true. He can’t think straight. Mingyu messes with his head.

“Nothing has to come out of this,” Mingyu continues. “If you never forgive me, that’s fair. If you don’t want to be friends or see me anymore, I can respect that, too. I missed everyone. I missed you. I miss you.”

Jihoon had constantly imagined what he’d say or do if Mingyu came back into his life. He’d dreamt of endless scenarios: ones with bad endings, ones where Jihoon forgives and forgets and they reunite as friends. Sometimes as lovers. He’s imagined bumrushing Mingyu at his apartment and demanding answers, or someone knocking at his door and Mingyu being on the other side when he opens it. With how much he daydreamed of this day, he thought he’d know exactly what to say and do. And, oh, he’s thought about it. Had a whole script that bled into his nightmares and jerked him awake.

But now he’s here. And the ball is in his court. Mingyu has given him the power to control what they do next. And Jihoon stands there tongue-tied — because there’s no right answer for this. He promised himself and Minghao that he’d do the right thing, but there’s no ‘right thing’ in this situation. Forgiving or not forgiving is completely his choice, with no moral ties. His day dreams could’ve never prepared him for this.

“I don’t know,” comes his weak croak of an answer. “I’m. It’s not my right to tell you whether you can hang out with the rest again. But, me… I don’t know.”

Mingyu nods like he saw this coming. Maybe he did. “I took four months,” he says. “So you can take as long as you need, Jihoon. Forever, even. Up to you.”

Up to him. Okay.

Okay.

Jihoon picks the tripod up from the asphalt. He brushes pieces of rubble off of it. A lump remains in his throat when he tries to speak. “They’re. Minghao has a tent. It’s the busiest one. If you wanted to find the others.”

Mingyu watching him is uncomfortable. Jihoon has to get re-accustomed to those almond-shaped eyes boring into his. That, amongst hundreds of other routines they’d had before Jihoon reset his brain to factory settings and started from the beginning. Fuck. Why now? What if he becomes too comfortable and Mingyu has another panic attack and disappears? He wants someone to tell him what to do, knows Minghao will just tell him to follow his heart or something.

“Do you?”

Jihoon blinks, looks up from the tripod. Mingyu is the same handsome he was pre-confession, probably more so with his new hair color and cut. Jihoon hates him so much. “What?”

“What you texted me,” Mingyu whispers, deflating in reluctance. “Do you still feel the same?”

Ah. Jihoon aimlessly rolls his palms around one of the legs.

“I wish I didn’t,” he says.

Mingyu lets out a wry laugh, rubs his hands on the sides of his jeans. “Sorry.”

The walk back to the event is one of the most awkward interactions Jihoon’s had with Mingyu since he’s known him. There isn’t much talking — no talking, really — just the occasional clatter of the tripod, Mingyu holding the water bottles since Jihoon didn’t have enough hands to carry them. The lawn is less crowded than earlier, but there remains a good cluster of students ambling around with their purchases or eating off to the outskirts. Mingyu quietly follows Jihoon over to the head tents, where Eunjin, Junghyun, and Jeonghan still are.

“That took you for-fucking-ever. Did you get lost or — “ Jeonghan has never shut up so fast. He looks up at Mingyu, back to Jihoon, then to Mingyu again. “Dude. Hi. Hi? I didn’t. Huh.”

Mingyu sets the water bottles on the table, Eunjin and Junghyun no longer talking amongst themselves to watch him with curious gazes. Jihoon shoves the tripod into Jeonghan’s arms, and Jeonghan mindlessly takes it without looking away from Mingyu. “Don’t ask me to do anything else,” Jihoon mutters. “I can’t stay out of trouble on my own.”

“I didn’t ask you to,” Jeonghan says to Mingyu. “Hey, Gyu. You good?”

Mingyu tries at a smile that would’ve looked weird as fuck if he weren’t so god damn handsome. Jihoon wants a round two of their one-sided fight; he has some new ideas. “I’m fine,” Mingyu says. “Getting there, at least. Where’s Soonyoung?”

Jeonghan takes a moment to process that he’s talking to Mingyu before he says, “With Minghao, of course.” He points in the direction of the tent. “See that one with th’girls with bright hair? Over there. Good luck battling the crowd.”

Jihoon doesn’t realize his soul has left his body, completely removed from this reality and the earth, until Junghyun grounds him with an elbow hooked around his. Her sea breeze tone is orienting, makes him look down at her. She’s studying him with curious eyes, but not in the same way she watched Mingyu. This one is laced with concern. “Hey,” she whispers, a gentle little noise. “Everything cool?”

He rubs a hand on the small of her back; he can feel her relax under his touch. “Everything’s cool,” he affirms. “Sorry I took so long.”

“You’re fine,” Junghyun says, leans her head on his shoulder.

Like a fucking idiot, Jihoon’s eyes snap up to Mingyu, who is supposed to already be on the hunt for Soonyoung but is instead standing there like fucking idiot #2, unabashedly staring at them. Staring, but it’s a quick acknowledgement, one that no one else seems to notice — only Jihoon. Of course.

Then Mingyu’s gone. Jihoon watches the crowd swallow him whole.

“You guys are talking again?” Jeonghan, fucking idiot #3, asks him. “Is this the twilight zone?”

Junghyun leans her head back to look at Jihoon. God fucking damnit. “Yep,” Jihoon says, tone clipped. “I guess. Don’t you have to meet with your photography club?”

Jeonghan narrows his eyes at him suspiciously. “Yes… But I was waiting for my tripod. And you took fifty years to bring it. I almost went out there looking for you. I’m glad I didn’t, though, because I’m sure _that_ conversation was tense. What did he — “

“Your club is waiting for you,” Jihoon says. He’s shooting daggers with his eyes as subtly as he can with Junghyun’s attention on him. “You should go before they dispatch a search team for you.”

Jeonghan finally goes, albeit reluctant. The harm has already been done, though, because Junghyun will have to be dumber than Jeonghan to not realize Jihoon was trying to shut him up. He pretends he doesn’t notice her burning a hole in the side of his face until she asks, careful, “Are you sure?”

And he doesn’t want to lie. He doesn’t. This budding relationship is supposed to be sprouted from a foundation of honesty and open communication. So he fights against the ‘I’m fine’ that’s on the tip of his tongue, swallows it down to replace it with, “We just, uh. Tall Guy and I — Mingyu — had an argument… a little while ago. We weren’t talking to one another. Until today, I guess.” Not a lie, but not the entire truth, either. He distantly wonders if she considers lying by omission equally reprehensible.

But maybe she doesn’t. Junghyun is staring at him like she knows he’s holding back, like she’d stepped on a landmine and doesn’t want to lose her other leg in the crossfire. “If you say so,” she says. He can feel her loosen her hold on his arm, swaying to put a tiny bit of space between their bodies. Making room for the hang of a secret. The first of many — or, at least, that’s what Jihoon’s assuming she’s thinking.

If it weren’t such a big deal he’d tell her. The safest thing to do is tell her. Tell her that’s him. The person that sent him on a self-destructive spiral. The man he feels in his bed, in his quietest moments.

“We can leave,” Junghyun’s voice drags him out of a headspace he promised himself he’d never fall in again. “We don’t have to go back.” Either she’s very perceptive, or Jihoon’s shit at hiding his emotions. Most likely a blend of the two.

But he can’t run away anymore. Mingyu’s here, Mingyu’s going to be here since they share the same friends, and the ball is in his court. _His_ court.

Jihoon tugs her close to his side. “It’s okay. We can go hang out a little bit longer and then… and then maybe you wanna spend the night at mine?”

Yeah. He needs to walk off the court altogether. Close that chapter of his life. He can see the promise of a new start in Junghyun’s warm eyes, an ocean breeze that rustles his hair.

A touch of a smile quirks Junghyun’s lips up. And, Jesus, that _smile_ ; whoever broke her heart needs to be curb stomped. “Sounds like a plan.”

What is easily one of the most difficult tasks of fall semester is not meeting Mingyu’s eyes when he informs the group he and Junghyun are heading out, his arm locked around her waist. In fact, he should get a trophy for how long he lasts, how steady his voice is when he chats and giggles as Hansol and Jeonghan go _oooooh!_ and elbow him. But. OK. Yes. On the way out from under the tent, Jihoon spares an uncharacteristically quiet Mingyu a glance. The quickest of glances that ever were. Which, Jihoon still deserves that trophy, but a tiny one. 

A trophy that he metaphorically snatches from his own hands when Mingyu’s blank stare follows him to his car. Follows him to the apartment. Follows him as Junghyun strips and steps in the shower with him, mouths at the nape of his neck and wraps slender arms around his middle.

Then Junghyun is asleep wrapped up in most of the blankets, and Jihoon officially deserves a slap in the face; it’s past midnight and he can’t fucking sleep because — he was wrong. He was wrong? He was wrong! He was so wrong! Why does he not listen to Minghao when Minghao’s always right? Jihoon was wrong!

Mingyu loves him! _Loves him_. Mingyu said he loves him. Said he feels the same love that Jihoon did. Does? Oh, god. Does. It’s so funny, ‘cause Jihoon’s been fantasizing about this since he came to terms with his emotions and stopped ducking them, yet the rendezvous was so discombobulating that Jihoon didn’t give Mingyu’s confession a second thought. He was too blinded by his anger, his resentment, and the only thing his brain was telling him to do was to kick Mingyu’s ass.

But. Jihoon stares at his ceiling long enough that it comes into focus through the dark. But. It’s true. It’s reality. Mingyu loves him and implied he’s waiting on his answer. Oh, man. Oh god oh man. Now Jihoon deserves to be choked out, because the raw, unadulterated joy — relief — that bursts from his chest is so powerful he has to actively bite back his grin.

Surreal. So surreal. Jihoon will never admit this, will readily take it to the grave, but he pinches his thigh to be one hundred percent sure that this isn’t another one of his dreams. Or that he’s not in a simulation, somebody’s human experiment on the mental effects of long-term suffering. Thankfully, the pain registers fine, and that means this must be reality. What a confusing swirl of remorse and serotonin, his limbs vibrating under the sheets.

Holy shit. _I love you, Jihoonie_ was real. Not love as in we’re friends and you’re my partner in crime ha-ha love, but I am _in_ love with you love. In. The omnipresent ‘in’ before the ‘love’.

He’ll return to being pissed (and guilty) in the morning, but tonight. Tonight he’s going to let himself soar, ascend to a higher level, out into the stratosphere. He’s earned it after four months of spiraling. Tonight, nothing and everything feels real.

* * *

Jihoon’s returned to being pissed in the morning. And guilty. He and Junghyun are sitting on his (stiff) living room couch, eating honey and almond cereal and watching some Netflix show Junghyun was dying to show him. It’s a reality show that Jihoon made Junghyun swear she’d never tell anyone he enjoys. She’s in one of his oversized tee shirts, her baby blue socks tugged up to her shins, ink black hair a frizzy mess tied up into a bun. Beautiful. The guilt ramps up exponentially.

He’s still so weak. Mingyu went ghost for _months_ and Jihoon’s ‘dating’ the girl of his dreams and he can’t help but daydream about giving in and accepting… whatever Mingyu wants. Dating? To date? They’ll be boyfriends?

Even more startling — did Mingyu expect Jihoon to fucking wait around for him to sort his head out? Did he think Jihoon was so undate-able that he wouldn’t be seeing anyone in the time it took for Mingyu to crawl out of his hole? Because that blank stare told a lot without saying much. Mingyu isn’t the only person that can pull girls. Jihoon isn’t some groupie that is gagging for his dick. What the fuck.

“He chose her?” Junghyun gasps in disbelief. “Miranda was so perfect and he chose _her_?” Her mouth gaping, she turns to Jihoon, then back to the television, then back again.

“That’s crazy,” Jihoon says on reflex. He scoops another pile of cereal and shoves it in to have an excuse to not be talking.

They (the always-vague ‘they’) say that love makes you do stupid things. Stupid things such as scurrying into the arms of someone that held his heart in their hands and proceeded to asphyxiate it. Then returned to the scene of the crime and defibrillated it before an injection of Epinephrine. Jihoon is insane. He’s delirious with anger and longing — but mostly anger. Thank the gods he’s more angry than desperate. Mingyu needs to grovel in his mistakes.

 _Jihoon needs to move on_.

When his buzzing phone startles him, Junghyun is giggling at something Miranda said on screen. Jihoon uses one hand to hold his bowl while the other fishes his phone out, taps the screen on.

The old group chat.

Minggu: _last night was great guy, thanks. ill apologize for being the biggest piece of shit in the best way i can - food. home cooked. my place at 2pm. please come._

The guys hung out without Jihoon last night. With Mingyu. Okay.

Soonyoung [blonde man emoji]: _food from scratch? youre forgiven. no doubt about it._

white people call him vernon: _it better be good lmao. im getting out of my bed for this_

Minggu: _you stay in your bed until 2?????_

Jeonghanie: _mingyu. have you already forgotten hansol’s weekend routine? shame on you_

white people call him vernon laughed at Jeonghanie’s text message.

Minggu: _ok. whatever. it’ll be worth it. just come lol_

“What a cliffhanger,” Junghyun groans to the ending credits. “I have to wait half a year for the new season? Wow.” She goes to say something to Jihoon, falters when she finds him staring, unmoving, at his phone. “You missed the ending! Those your friends?”

Jihoon nods. “Yeah.” Should he go? Does that show he’s forgiven him? Would that make him look weak? Is this going to be the first mistake he makes after his streak of perfects? This is bad.

As he’s contemplating his next move, he receives two texts in rapid succession: both out of the group chat. It’s the Ming’s.

Hǎo Minghao, to Jihoon: _Are you going? It’s totally ok if you don’t want to._

If Jihoon were in a better mood, he’d laugh at how Minghao uses correct punctuation in private texts versus in the group chat. He doesn’t laugh.

Minggu, to Jihoon: _ofc it’s up to you and ill be fine with either… but will you come to lunch?_

Yikes. The way Jihoon’s heart instantly starts to thump fast in his throat has him feeling lightheaded. He’s joked about it, but he may genuinely pass out one of these days from the constant oscillation of emotion.

“Jihoonie? What’s wrong?”

Jihoon, to Minggu: _Or maybe i should leave you hanging like you did me._

Doesn’t seem like the text even delivers before Mingyu’s typing again.

Minggu: _i’d deserve it. i know. i keep reading your last texts. im so sorry._

Minggu: _i’m sorry jihoonie. if you don’t come i 100% understand but it’d be great if you came_.

Jihoon: _don’t call me that. youre demoted from nickname status_

“Jihoon.”

Minggu: _ok, yeah, i deserve that too. we didn’t get to talk as much as we should’ve yesterday. there’s more i want to ask and say but i dont wanna do it through text_

Minggu: _im gonna start cooking at 11. if you came by then i’d be thankful_

Minggu: _if not, that’s fine_

The anger is picking up. Jihoon’s fingertips are vibrating as he taps furiously at the screen.

“ _Jihoon_.”

Jihoon: _this isn’t going to work on me mingyu. guilting me into coming is such a shit move. you have no clue how being without you felt for me._

Oops — no! That sounds way too weird and melodramatic. But he can’t undo it, because it’s already sent… someone needs to invent an undo option, god damn it.

Minggu _: i know. i can’t imagine. i never will. youre my best friend and i did a shit thing to you. i can’t convey how sorry i am_

He can’t breathe. The warm, apartment air is choking him. There is nothing he hates more at the moment than being weak enough to let Mingyu’s words drag him back to pre-confession. To the doubt and confusion and his overthinking mind prepping him for pain.

Jihoon: _best friend._

Jihoon: _what happened to what you said in the parking lot_

The couch cushions shift with movement; Jihoon doesn’t bother to look up, hypnotized by the text bubble with the ellipsis coming and going.

Minggu: _you haven’t decided yet. we’re best friends until then_

Jihoon: _you’re not my best friend._

Jihoon: _i asked you what this was. you used your dumb ass tricks you use on chicks you only wanna fuck and left. that’s not what best friends do._

Jihoon: _why do i let you hurt me so bad_

Jihoon: _i hate this_

He’s going to regret this in a couple of seconds. A couple of seconds that pass by and, yes, he’s regretting it. Staring at the ellipsis and regretting everything.

Minggu: _god jihoonie please let me talk to you_

Minggu: _jihoon*_

Minggu: _sorry_

Minggu: _face to face._

Minggu: _is this because you have a girlfriend now?_

Minggu: _tell me and i’ll stop harassing you_

Wow.

Jihoon: _tell you like you told me?? when i begged you to answer me??_

Jihoon: _you’ve got to be fucking kidding me mingyu_

No more. He refuses to do this first thing in the morning. Jihoon switches Minggu to silent and plops his phone face down on the couch.

Only then does he notice that Junghyun is no longer sitting next to him. “Hyunie?” he turns around. She’s nowhere in sight.

Shit.

Jihoon abandons his barely-eaten cereal to search for her, a hunt that lasts a good five seconds once he finds her in his bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling the clothes she wore yesterday back on (she washed the sweat out of them the night prior, thankfully).

“Hi,” he mumbles, standing in the doorway nervously.

Junghyun’s eyes flicker up at him and then back down to where she’s tugging her shorts up her legs. “I should go. Something’s distracting you.”

Fantastic. Mingyu the cock-blocker strikes again.

“I’m sorry,” Jihoon says. “I didn’t mean to… get distracted.”

She flops her hands down on the mattress once her shorts are buttoned around her narrow hips, sighing like she’s being burdened hearing his excuses. Or lack thereof. “I don’t ever want to pry,” she tells him, stern. “Really. But — I ‘dunno. Clearly something serious happened with your friend, because you haven’t been acting the same since you came back with him. Do you need some time alone? What do you need?”

No. Wait. Yes?

“I don’t know,” Jihoon croaks.

Junghyun blinks at him. Her lips, often quirked up, are pressed in a straight line. She’s looking at him as if wondering, for the first time since meeting him, if she’d made a mistake.

This is going downhill — and fast. He can’t ruin the single good thing that’s happened in his love life since matriculation. Which is another way of saying that Jihoon has to end this. He has to get off the fucking court and be happy.

 _Exactly_. The answer to his seemingly endless drama isn’t a reset, isn’t a do-over, isn’t a rewind.

It’s moving on.

“I’m going to fix it today,” Jihoon says. “Don’t worry.” 

* * *

Jihoon channels his Doomsday self and powers into Mingyu’s apartment when he opens the door. It’s 11 a.m, and he hadn’t answered any of Mingyu’s numerous texts since he abandoned his phone on his (stiff) living room couch. To say Mingyu’s surprised is an understatement; he’s tracking Jihoon’s trail past the foyer like he’s witnessing a miracle.

His journey stops short, just past the foyer, shoes on because this won’t be long. Then Jihoon’s turning around and comes face to face with Mingyu — Kim Mingyu himself, in his signature skin-tight jeans, a plaid button-up with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, wielding a halved leek. “Hey?” he starts, voice as deep as ever.

Now’s not the time, Jihoon. Doomsday Jihoon flicks on, substituting for Devastatingly In Love Jihoon. “I can’t,” he says. “I won’t. She’s — she’s not my girlfriend. Yet. But I want her to be. I have to get over you to do that, so.” He waves vague arms in the air. “I can’t do this with you anymore. Starting today, we’re acquaintances.”

Jihoon is going to earn his trophy back with how unaffected he maintains his expression in response to the way Mingyu’s crumbles.

“Seriously?” Mingyu says.

“Yes.”

Mingyu flounders helplessly, blinking at his surroundings as if noticing them for the first time. “I,” he looks at Jihoon again. “I deserve this. I know I do —I get it, Jihoon. I was. I was trying to get over Chaeyeon. But I was trying to accept _me_ , too. And. I never meant to fuck this up so bad. Realizing I — “ his voice breaks; he pauses, inhaling visibly. He’s going to have to breathe for the both of them, because Jihoon’s forgotten how to. Again. “I had to take time to get over Chaeyeon, and — and accept that I wasn’t… I’m not straight. Maybe it sounds stupid to you, because we — we had sex, and I’ve been with other — men?”

Jihoon doesn’t take the cue to speak, so Mingyu persists.

“And I knew I loved you,” Mingyu returns in almost a whisper. “I knew I loved you before I realized. Me. That’s why your — what you texted me scared me so much. I’m not trying to make excuses. I just want you to know the reason.”

“Sounds like excuses.” Another trophy for Jihoon — his inflection doesn’t give away the oncoming break down. Mingyu loves him. Mingyu loves him. Loved him first, came to terms with who he was second. Jihoon came first.

Mingyu is doing the rapid blinking thing. Jihoon isn’t sure if he’s hallucinating or if Mingyu’s actually tearing up. “They do,” he relents. “I wanted to explain my side, though. You wanted to hear it. There’s nothing I can say to make it up to you.” Now he’s doing the repeated hair-raking. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

“Don’t turn this around on me.”

“I’m _not_. You asked me what I — “

“I didn’t ask you anything other than to stay away.”

Mingyu meets his eyes. And — yeah, those are unfallen tears. Tears that Jihoon refuses to succumb to. “You asked me in the texts, Jihoon. You asked me why in the parking lot, too. Why I ignored you. Don’t act like that — “

“Don’t tell me how to act,” Jihoon says a decimal louder than the last. “You don’t get to pop up out of nowhere and tell me what I should do, or feel, or — like — “ He clenches and unclenches his fists. Stop. Factory settings, Jihoon. Remember the mission. “I’m only here to say that this is not going to work. I hate you. A lot. And I can’t say when I’ll stop hating you. There’s a good chance I never will.”

Jihoon realizes it’s a lie as soon as it escapes his mouth.

“You said you loved me,” Mingyu whispers. Perhaps Mingyu can also see straight through him. They were friends, once. “You said you wished you didn’t.”

“I do.”

“You can’t both hate and love me, Jihoon.”

“I can and I do.”

“You’re not making any sense. I’m serious — “

“Did you make sense when you decided to disappear?”

Mingyu has the audacity to frown, and Jihoon is seconds away from punching it straight off his handsome face. “I’m trying to _fix_ things. In that moment, yes, it made sense to me. Today it doesn’t, but it did then. That’s the truth.”

“This is why I can’t, Mingyu. No explanation will change how I feel. I have to move on.”

Mingyu ducks his head against the sting, chocolate brown fringe flopping over his eyes. An uncomfortable moment of silence follows — one Jihoon should probably be taking advantage of to leave. He said what he had to say. If Mingyu’s going to cry about it, great, because that’s what Jihoon had done hundreds of times since summer break. This is it.

The end.

Except Jihoon’s feet won’t move? And his stupid, stupid, _stupid_ , helplessly in love heart won’t circulate the blood his extremities require to help him escape. _This is for you. Do this for you_.

Is this doing this for him when he doesn’t want to go?

Shit. Jihoon doesn’t want to go. He promised he’ll stop disembodying himself to compartmentalize tough emotions, but here he is doing it again. His stupid, stupid, _stupid_ , helplessly in love heart is him. Jihoon is his heart and his heart is Jihoon. The metaphorical one, anyway — the real one is only sentient enough to contract and relax everyday. Which is also him, not some organ he can personify when convenient. He doesn’t want to go.

“Is this you doing the mature thing?” Jihoon lets his mouth ask. No. _He_ asks.

Mingyu wipes at his face before raising his head to meet Jihoon’s stare. His irises are encircled with a tint of red. Jihoon needs approximately two to five more years of separation to gather the strength to withstand a crying Mingyu. 120 days won’t cut it.

“In my opinion,” Mingyu says. “Yes. In yours? Probably not.”

Jihoon’s expression gentles a fraction. “It is.” Mingyu studies him with parted lips, hand freezing mid-rake. “I can’t flush five years of friendship down the toilet, no matter how much I wish I could.”

“I can’t either.”

“When you left it felt like you did,” Jihoon returns.

Mingyu lifts his head further. “I should’ve told you. I should’ve told you and I’ll regret not doing that for a long time. Please believe me.”

“I believe you.”

Something akin to relief touches Mingyu’s features. He removes his hand from his hair.

It’s Jihoon’s turn to break eye contact. “I need time. You came back just yesterday; it’s still too fresh for me. It may not be the answer you want — but. I need time.”

Mingyu takes a weary step closer, shortening the considerable distance between them. “Yeah. Okay. It’s my turn to wait for you.”

When Jihoon returns his attention to Mingyu, his vision is blurring at the periphery. And his throat is burning. And his rib cage is clamping down on his lungs. And his tongue is tingling with unanswered questions. “You’re not lying to me?”

Mingyu blinks, stunned. “Jihoon. Yes. I already said I’d wait — “

“No.” The peripheral blur is inching inwards. “That you love me. Not in a friend way. You’re not lying?”

No immediate answer. Mingyu maintains the wide, surprised eyes for a beat longer before recognition chases it away. Though Jihoon can no longer see him anymore, his vision officially one, big blur of colors, an organized chaos much like Minghao’s depiction of a formless silhouette. _Who we are_.

“I wouldn’t lie to you,” Mingyu’s soft inflection translates loud and disorienting in the silence of his apartment. Jihoon hears it as a shout, as an alarm screeching between his ears. “I love you.”

There it is. The sole Does Matter to replace the things that don’t matter, the Don’t Matters he erased when returning to factory settings. _Are you_ trying _to wake them_ — I love you. _Yes, god, yes wanted that_ — I love you. _That’s what this is? Ye_ — I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you.

They can never behave when alone, can they? Whether they’re sneaking out to smoke and grope behind an apartment complex, flirt in hushed voices in the kitchen of a friend’s place, have sex in another apartment, another kitchen, kiss and cuddle in haunted beds. Being alone, with Mingyu, has been dangerous for as long as Jihoon’s known him. Loved him. Jihoon isn’t that out of practice to not understand this. 

But, actually. _Danger_? Sure, it was dangerous when they were fumbling teenage boys, too inept and unsure of themselves to learn somebody else. It was dangerous their first year of university when they were led by their dicks, brains powered off, and unwilling, _afraid_ , to sort out who they were, what they wanted. The most dangerous in second year, where one wrong step could — and did — dismantle friendships, relationships.

Now? Here? The real danger is trying not to unravel the months — no, god, the _years_ — Jihoon spent masquerading as if he were watching somebody else’s life, their stream of bad decisions. He’s so mad that he could cry. Mad, and in love, and _loved_.

It takes Jihoon several seconds to realize that he’s come undone, that Mingyu’s arms are around him. But when he does, he doesn’t pry free. Mad or not — he wants this, and he’s allowed to have it. God. He’s allowed to have it.

“I need time,” Jihoon mutters against Mingyu’s arm, despite himself. “I — I can’t. I need time.”

Mingyu’s breath tickles the top of his head, ink black hair stirring on each exhale. “Okay. I’m not going anywhere.”

Jihoon swears time stops. The world goes quiet, his always-racing mind jerks to a halt. Three minutes are processed as three hours. He wants it to last for three days. Three months.

“Jihoon.”

Jihoon doesn’t stir, eyes fluttering closed.

“Jihoon.”

He releases a gentle sigh. Fuck, his head hurts.

“Jihoon.” This time Mingyu’s laughing. He leans his torso away, returning Jihoon to mother earth. “Your phone is going crazy, dude.” Somehow he’s taken Jihoon’s phone from his back pocket without his realizing, and he holds it up in Jihoon’s line of vision. “Minghao’s called you, like, four times in a row.”

He squints at the screen, takes it from Mingyu’s grip. True to word, he has several missed calls from Minghao. And — shit. He forgot to respond to his text!

Jihoon answers the second his phone buzzes, presses it to his ear. “Hey, Ming — “

“ _Are you okay_?” Minghao sounds panicky on the other line. “ _Did something happen? We don’t have to go if you don’t want to — or — or if you can’t! Should I drive ov —_ “

“I’m fine,” Jihoon laughs. He feels bad for freaking him out, but the fact that Minghao’s _this_ worried about him is nice. Can’t believe he nearly lost such a great friend. “Everything’s fine. I was gonna reply to your text and got distracted.”

“ _Oh — good._ ” A breath of relief is picked up by the receiver. “ _I’m glad_.” Movement. “ _So. Are you going? Not to pressure you; I just wanna be sure we’re not… forcing you? Like. Forcing you to hang out with him again_.”

Jihoon’s eyes flicker up to Mingyu, who’s watching nervously. They’re no longer hugging, but they’re close enough that Jihoon can feel the warmth of his skin. “It won’t be forcing me. But, uh.” He readjusts the phone to his other ear. “I think I have to skip out this time. Told him I wanted to go slow.”

He’s answered with the sound of more movement, shifting. Then Minghao’s breathing is back. “ _Go slow? Like. As friends_?”

“For now, yeah.”

“ _For_ now _?_ ”

“Maybe forever. I don’t know. Can I — “ Jihoon watches Mingyu’s face fall before he fixes his expression into forced neutrality. “I’ll tell you later. Text me. I won’t forget to respond this time.”

Minghao giggles softly, a half-confused sound. “ _Sure. Swing by mine anytime_.”

“Thanks. Bye.”

The line goes dead. Jihoon returns his phone to his back pocket.

“You’re leaving.” Soothsayer Kim Mingyu.

Jihoon shifts his weight onto one foot, arms crossed. “Yeah.”

“Alright,” Mingyu says. “Then… see you Monday?”

A day to recalibrate. Good. Jihoon musters up a smile, meeting Mingyu’s eyes for a moment, then glancing past him, at the door. “Yep. See you Monday.”

Mingyu remains where he is as Jihoon goes.

* * *

Junghyunie [musical note emoji]: _How are you feeling?_

Jihoon: _confused._

Junghyunie [musical note emoji]: _Me too._

Junghyunie [musical note emoji]: _What do you want to do?_

Jihoon: _i don’t want to hurt you._

When several minutes pass, Jihoon knows he’s not going to get a response. There aren’t enough superhero movies in existence to get him to stop ruminating over her.

* * *

Jihoon’s expectations for that Sunday are that he’ll confess to Minghao (and Soonyoung, since the fucker is never not present) that Mingyu loves — ‘in’ in front of the ‘love’ — him and they’ll be a mess of excitement and confusion and concern together. Maybe crack a bottle of Minghao’s fancy champagne from the shelf and split their time celebrating and deciding what the next course of action is. Of course, the remaining truth about Jihoon’s life is that his expectations have a 2% chance of coming to fruition. If lucky.

What happens _instead_ is that Jihoon takes five fucking minutes to spit it out, because he’s the lone Mess TM in this equation, and Minghao and Soonyoung sit and patiently wait as he cries and blubbers and cries some more. Once he’s choked the final string of words, Minghao coos and drags him into an embrace. “Hoonie,” he mutters into his hair. A gentle palm rubs up and down his back. “I’m happy you’re happy.”

“Jeonghan told me you took forever to get his tripod,” Soonyoung says when Jihoon’s shed the last of his tears. He has to be dehydrated by how much he’s cried this year; Coke doesn’t cut it. “And then you showed up, like, twenty minutes later with Mingyu. Did he — ?”

Jihoon nods against Minghao’s thin, wiry chest. His voice is out of service for the time being.

He hears Soonyoung breathe an _ah_. Minghao’s head shifts above him. “Do you… you forgive him?”

Jihoon shakes his head no.

Another _ah_ of acknowledgement.

Minghao’s grip tightens around his slumped body. “Do you want to?” The bedroom TV nearly drowns him out.

Jihoon nods.

“Wanna hear how lunch went?” Soonyoung’s turn.

Jihoon nods.

“To be honest,” Soonyoung starts. He adjusts himself on Minghao’s bed so he’s sitting criss-cross at the end of it, facing them. “It was kinda awkward at first. But, like, it was also awkward at first when we hung out with him after the charity thingie. After the weirdness went away it felt like Mingyu never left. Jeonghan helped keep the atmosphere light and stuff. So. That’s the short of it.”

“Think you’ll come next time?” Minghao asks.

It’s reluctant, but Jihoon nods.

“Don’t let us rush you.”

Jihoon shakes his head. “Not rushing me,” his voice sounds hoarse.

He hears Soonyoung giggle; his cheek vibrates when Minghao follows suit. “I’m jealous,” Soonyoung says. “You never cling to _me_ when you’re sad. I wanna love you, too.”

Jihoon’s quip is instant. “Die and return as Minghao’s reincarnation, then I’ll think about it.”

The vibrations intensify with loud laughter.

* * *

Mingyu is probably the best Jihoon’s ever seen at appearing unaffected, casual. He needs to become an actor, or something. There are the occasional cracks in his façade, ones Jihoon sees because he has a five year history with him, but they’re quick, far and few between. Jihoon, on the other hand, is shedding the paper around his Coke bottle with two hands as soon as Mingyu slides into his usual dining hall seat, beside Jihoon. New haircut accentuating the sharpness of his jaw, off-white tee shirt with the short sleeves folded, black trousers that lengthen his already long legs. A citrusy, sandalwood-scented dream.

Jihoon permits a few heavy inhales, drinking in the nostalgia. Completely cried out, his body punishes him with a headache in its place. Because — the man to his left is in love with him. Oh my god?

“You know,” The Man That’s in Love with Him is saying to Jeonghan. He blindly extends half of his chocolate chunk cookie to Jihoon; Jihoon takes it on reflex. “I can’t get over how you got a girlfriend? Jeonghan? With a girlfriend?”

Jihoon exchanges the cookie half with a freshly-ripped Coke wrapper. “That’s what I said,” he tries around the lump in his throat.

It’s blatantly obvious that Hansol and Jeonghan are considering them, trying to scout out any micro-expression that unveils their secrets — secrets that don’t exist. “I’m starting to get offended,” Jeonghan answers without dropping the suspicious shifty eyes. “Why can’t I have a girlfriend?”

“You’re picky as fuck, dude,” Hansol says to Jihoon’s jittery hands. “The chick has to be a 4.0GPA supermodel for you to give them the light of day.”

Jeonghan gives up (for the moment) to frown at Hansol and his tomato soup. “Stop exaggerating. Eunjinie is none of the above and she’s perfect the way she is.” He pauses. “Also — I don’t wanna hear that from a man eating _soup_ and wearing a _beanie_ in the summertime.”

“It’s fall, actually,” Minghao says.

“Fuckin’ semantics. It feels like summer, and that’s what counts.”

“What does that have to do with your unrealistic standards, though?” Hansol snorts. “Admit it, Hanie. You’re impossible.”

Soonyoung has a mouthful of fries when he says, albeit muffled, “He didn’t even like her before _she_ hit on _him_.”

Mingyu, who’s sitting across from Soonyoung, ducks and shields his face. “Woah! Your mom teach you to not talk with a full mouth?” Soonyoung sputters a laugh, and this time Jihoon, Mingyu, and Hansol have to duck; Hansol is quick to cover his soup with a napkin. “ _Soonyoung_!”

Jeonghan pretends to not notice. “You’re such a liar,” he accuses, ears turning a light shade of red. “She didn’t hit on me. I’m the one who made the first move. This selective memory of yours sounds suspiciously like slander.”

“She moved seats two, three times to sit next to you,” Minghao says. “So technically she’s the one that made the first move.”

“You’re not making any sense,” Jeonghan retorts, frown shifting to Minghao. “How is moving seats making the first move?”

Soonyoung swallows his chewed up fries. “She planted the seed. That’s the first move . . . “

Jihoon is so amused by the argument that he startles when Mingyu taps the table by his pile of shredded paper to get his attention. “I was in Busan over summer break.”

Jihoon nods, slow. “Yeah?”

“Were you there?”

Hah. “In spirit,” Jihoon quips. “Couldn’t make it.”

One of Mingyu’s annoyingly manicured eyebrows quirk up. “Couldn’t make it?”

Jihoon’s one too many confessions too late to start having a sense of dignity at this point. Might as well let it out in the air, make Mingyu squirm. Since he does hate him. Mostly. Partly. (Give him a minute to relive his worst nights and he’ll mostly hate him again.)

“My room,” he starts, watching his own hands rip the paper into tinier pieces. Pauses to collect his words. “And living room. You’re everywhere.”

The glow in the dark stars Mingyu, Tall to his Small (à la Jeonghan), helped his dad stick to the ceiling; the old television set with VCRs of anime classics; the twin mattress and faded sheets they crammed themselves on and under; the collage of high school club and graduation pictures above his desk; the framed photos decorating a corner of the living room — when he says everywhere he means it. Everywhere and almost palpable, almost able to be felt and sensed and _smelt_. Citrus and sandalwood, his signature cologne since they were teenagers. How Jihoon managed to return for a weekend, sans Mingyu, he doesn’t know.

“Wow,” Mingyu says, sounding wounded. “Jihoon. I’m — fuck. I’m so sorry.” 

Jihoon twists his mouth at the Coke wrapper hill. “So I’ve heard.”

Mingyu gapes on unspoken words. No way he can look at him now. He’ll lose what’s left of his resolve.

“I did go back, though,” he continues. “A few weekends ago. They asked about you, so you better call them or they’re gonna kill you.”

A large, warm palm presses on top of one of his, stills him from his anxious ripping.

“Is this okay?” It’s a whisper hidden in the chaos of the table.

Oh. Jihoon freezes. Yes. It’s always been okay. More than okay. Not enough, even. Amazing how much he’s missed this, how fast every cell in his body reacts to a simple touch. Except a touch not as the best friend with the girlfriend — as the man that loves him. In before the love.

Jihoon meets his eyes, doesn’t stop to think better of it. Mingyu regards him with wonder, worry, eyebrows furrowed and eyes hopefully, helplessly wide. Overgrown Puppy couldn’t be closest to the truth.

“Yeah,” he whispers to the browns of Mingyu’s irides. Their color’s a twinge lighter with the halo of eyeshadow circling them. Stupidly handsome.

Soonyoung has to pry him from his awestruck daydream with a foot nudging into his shin, more annoying than painful. Jihoon snaps his attention to him and opens his mouth to rudely ask him what he wants — but the question is rendered null and void when he realizes what he wants.

What he wants is to greet Eunjin, who just arrived with Junghyun at her heels. Park Junghyun. Jihoon’s brain taps his shoulder to remind him that they haven’t spoken since Saturday night, when she didn’t respond to his _i don’t want to hurt you_. Fuck.

“What’s up, ladies?” Minghao says. He tosses a lazy arm over the back of Soonyoung’s chair. “You got a count on how much we earned for the charity?”

He and Mingyu watch Eunjin peck Jeonghan on the lips, then the two girls are tugging chairs from adjacent tables to squeeze in with them. Junghyun manages to find space across from Jihoon, at the end, Soonyoung to her right. She passes a weary half-smile his way; he’s sure his returning one isn’t much different.

Mingyu’s hand slips away.

“I’m glad you asked,” Eunjin says from her seat at Jeonghan’s right, at the other end of the table. “Because that’s what I was going to tell you guys.”

“Ooh,” Hansol moans. “It’s _gotta_ be over twelve mill won.”

Soonyoung raises a hand. “Wait. Ming Ming first, please.” He turns to Minghao. “Tell them how much each painting sold for.”

“Ming Ming?” Eunjin asks, amused.

Jeonghan hovers a palm over her mouth as if trying to silence her. “Please don’t ask,” he groans. “Ignore that.”

Minghao can’t fight his shit-eating grin. He scans their faces to heighten anticipation. Hansol playfully shouts _get on with it_ , and Minghao giggles, then gives his captive audience what they want. “608K for _Who We Are_ … — “ Collective gasps. “And double that for _Red Sky, Blonde Man_.” Louder gasps.

“Last but not least…” Eunjin begins. She does a drumroll on the table for a couple of seconds before blurting, “18. Million. Won. Total!”

The table has to clap at that. Hansol claps the hardest. “I can’t fuckin’ believe it,” Hansol says. “That’s incredible, Eunjin noona.”

“Right? I teared up once we had the final count,” she tells them. “We have to do this every year. I’m in talks with the campus, so fingers crossed.”

Then there’s a bustle of glee and more questions. And Jihoon wants to be excited with them. He does. Trust and believe. But Mingyu is the same uncharacteristically quiet that he was at the tail end of the event, Junghyun is directly across from him and also quiet, and he’s so jittery that for a split second he’s convinced he’d downed three cups of coffee with his lunch and forgot, or something.

Junghyun must sense that Jihoon’s skin is going to peel off his bones from how nervous he is, because she blinks at him, asks, “What were you up to yesterday?” Neither kind nor unkind.

“Oh, uh,” he picks up where he left off with the paper-ripping. “I hung out with Minghao and Soonyoung… You?”

“Eunwoo unnie — she’s a music performance major — had a piano recital, so I went to support her.” Junghyun shrugs, loose hair jostling over her shoulders. “Then I had dinner with a few music comp friends. Nothing crazy.”

“Are you a music comp major, too?” Mingyu asks. It’s not like Mingyu can’t talk to Junghyun or anything, but he still startles at the sudden sound of his voice.

Junghyun addresses him. “That I am. Are you? I don’t think I’ve seen you in any of my classes?”

Mingyu smiles, shakes his head. “Photography and art design double major. Like Jeonghan.” He points a thumb in Jeonghan’s direction. “Pipe dream, maybe, but I’d love to be a photographer. Work in Seoul.”

“Not a pipe dream,” Junghyun says. “If you’re serious about that it’s more attainable than you think.”

Jihoon titters. “Junghyun-ssi here is, like, one of the best pianists and lyricists I’ve met on campus. Nothing is a pipe dream for her.” Junghyun waves a hand in opposition, the other covering her shy giggle.

Mingyu is looking at him now. “You don’t think you’re a good pianist and lyricist?”

“Sure,” Jihoon drawls. “But ‘good’ won’t get me a music production job in Seoul. I have to be good times five.”

“Jihoon. We’ve talked about this.”

Jihoon shoots him a look. “We have. And we’ve agreed there’s a very, very, very — very — high probability that I won’t have the career I want.”

“ _We_ did?”

“Yup. You couldn’t argue with any of my points every time.”

Mingyu sighs, rolls his eyes. “Dude — I give up because you’re relentless. And obnoxiously stubborn.”

“Projection,” Jihoon accuses, pointing a finger at him. “Nothing but projection.”

Jihoon sways his index finger around, maintaining his accusatory point in Mingyu’s general direction, as Mingyu tries to grab it. “See? Those are one of your tactics to shut me up,” there’s almost a laugh in Mingyu’s voice, corner of his mouth quirking up. “I can’t compete with a guy that repeats ‘projection’ over and over.”

“Sure you can,” Jihoon counters. “With an actual argument.” He doesn’t move his finger away in time on the fourth attempt, and he holds in a giggle when Mingyu snatches it and contorts his body to not lose his grip.

“What is an actual argument to you?” Mingyu can’t hold in the laugh anymore. Jihoon nearly wiggles out of his fist.

Turns out Jihoon can’t hold it in either. “Nothing,” he says. “‘Cause you can’t argue with facts.”

“ _Facts_?”

“Facts.”

Jihoon tugs at the perfect opportunity, and finally his index finger is free from Mingyu Jail. “I hate when you say that about yourself. You’re good enough for Seoul and I know you know it.”

“Do I?"

Then it’s a stare-off, both waiting for the other to submit first. Except Mingyu has an unfair advantage, because while Jihoon’s not the best with direct eye contact in general, staring at Mingyu can’t be much different from staring directly into the sun; and stern-faced Mingyu isn’t much different from flipping through a male fashion catalogue, or combing through model agency websites. That’s a whole lot of words to say that it burns. His pupils are sizzling, and he’ll end up with permanent vision loss by the time Mingyu’s prepared to stop their juvenile competition.

“Hoonie?”

That’s a good excuse as any. Jihoon lets Mingyu have the victory (this round) and averts his eyes to meet Junghyun’s. Her expressionless face burns much the same. “Hey — sorry. He’s an idiot.” Mingyu grumbles beside him. “What’s up?”

“I have to get to class.” She hesitates. “Can you… Can you walk with me?”

This. Could be bad. Both options are bad, honestly. But only one person here ditched and avoided him for four months… so they can cope.

“Sure,” Jihoon says. If Mingyu is bothered by it, he gives nothing away.

Jihoon has seen her schedule. Her lecture isn’t for another half hour. So he can feel it coming as they amble across a busy campus as if taking a stroll. She has her parcel bag strap hooked over one shoulder, feet swinging casually with each step; Jihoon watches her watch the sidewalk from his periphery.

“My ex,” Junghyun starts. His trachea is already constricting — cool. “Jisoo. He did this thing where he… ah. He was afraid. A lot.”

A rowdy group of athletes burst into laughter as they drift past them on the sidewalk.

“I was afraid, too, but I acted like I wasn’t. Because if I was afraid and he was afraid then there’s no one strong in the relationship.” She shrugs. “I decided to be the strong one. We dated for maybe… 2 years? On and off. We broke up so many times. He had me playing these stupid guessing games constantly. He wouldn’t communicate how he felt, and tha — “

“Junghyun.”

Junghyun slows, looks at him. He slows to match her stride.

“You’re still in love with him?”

Her mouth curls like it wants to be a smile, turns out a bittersweet grimace instead. “I think so. Yes.”

Jihoon’s inhale quivers. “Do you still talk to him?”

Junghyun’s hesitation spoils the answer, but he waits for her to say, “Sometimes,” anyway.

Hidden in plain sight. A performatively empty room. Once more, bolder than the last — The only place she can’t hide is in her music. Jihoon looks at her, sees his reflection.

“Was that your ex?”

Jihoon’s fingers twitch around the strap of his backpack. “No,” he says. “Just. But he’s — “ She waits as he fumbles. “He’s. The person.”

That seems to be a sufficient answer for her. Her head bobs in a brief nod, a hand coming up to tuck a loose string of hair behind her ear.

“We’re,” she’s saying, eyebrows furrowing. “I don’t think we’ll be able to not hurt each other.”

Not something he can argue with. He shifts weight to one foot. “Guess we couldn’t move slow enough.” He tries for a lighthearted tone, but it comes out in a breathy crackle.

Junghyun humors him with a real smile regardless. Consolation prize. “Maybe.” She stops walking altogether when they get to the arts hall. “I like being your friend.”

Jihoon mirrors her smile. “Same, yeah. It’s nice having a fellow music comp major. Minor. Whatever.”

She giggles and shakes her head. “Major-minor, yes. I may need your help to finish that song, though, so don’t run on me.”

“I’ll have my person call your person.”

They both laugh quietly, heads ducking.

The byes they exchange before she disappears behind the glass doors hurt a bit. A few, visceral throbs. Because their romance was short, most likely (more like definitely) spurred by broken hearts and a desperation to belong, feel wanted —

but it was something else, too. Something that could’ve been. If things were different, maybe he wouldn’t have had to try and memorize her enthralled half-smile to override the things that don’t matter. Nor would she have had to pretend to have rid herself of hers.

A mismatch of expectations and reality.

* * *

* * *

Many conversations flitter in between the normalcy — sometimes at random, sometimes planned. There’s the day their group study session filters down to just the two of them, when Jihoon leads the conversation and Mingyu follows; “You’re the last person I expected to do that to me,” is answered with, “I want to make it up to you.” They don’t leave the room together.

Then, midterms pass and it calls for celebration; the boys decide to go to the movie theatres. Jihoon waits in line to purchase overpriced popcorn and a Coke, and Mingyu branches off from the others to stand with him. “Is she your girlfriend?” Mingyu asks to the name that pops up on Jihoon’s phone.

“No,” Jihoon says to his screen. When it turns black from inactivity he can see their pinched, distorted reflections. “We were trying, though.”

“Were? What happened?”

Jihoon taps the screen on again, unlocks it with his face. He reads the text — _She gave me a 94!! :) thanks so much hoonie_ — before he says, “You.”

Mingyu doesn’t answer then, but they pick up where they left off at a friend of a friend’s apartment, celebrating Friend of a Friend’s law firm internship despite only one of them knowing who Friend is (Hansol). They’re in a tight circle with said friend when Mingyu removes himself from the conversation to sit on an unoccupied love seat and type on his phone.

Jihoon lingers with the rest for another minute until something about Mingyu’s hunched form beckons him to sit on the arm of the chair. As if already predicting he’d come, Mingyu immediately asks, “What about me stopped you from dating her?” This time Jihoon’s watching Mingyu scroll aimlessly through Instagram, a constant stream of banner notifications popping up at the top of his screen — texts from some people Jihoon recognizes, some he doesn’t.

“I can’t date somebody if I’m in love with somebody else,” Jihoon says. His liquor-addled tongue is loose and bold. “I’m not you.”

“Are you never gonna let me live that down?”

Jihoon reaches out and takes over, tapping on Mingyu’s profile. Mingyu removes his own thumbs and lets Jihoon scroll down. “You deleted your pictures with Chaeyeon?”

“Why would I keep them?”

“Did she delete yours from hers?”

Mingyu stops watching him scroll to blink up at him. “We’re not dating anymore, Jihoon. We haven’t been dating for several months.”

Jihoon taps on Mingyu’s follow list. He types Chaeyeon’s Instagram username in. Nothing pops up. “How soon after I told everybody did you break up with her?”

“Officially?”

“Yes, Mingyu.”

Mingyu leans into the chair, relinquishing his phone to Jihoon’s curious hands. He watches Jihoon scroll. “It’s hard to say. I told her that night and we didn’t talk for a week. When she called me to meet up I went… and she didn’t wanna break up.” He rests his head on the back of the sofa. “I told her I couldn’t and returned the gift.”

“The bracelet.”

“The bracelet,” Mingyu confirms.

The next time they talk about it is in Jihoon’s Contemporary Techniques in Composition 3 lecture. While normally in the front, Jihoon migrates to the row closest to the doors, in a corner, Mingyu next to him. His professor is answering someone’s slew of questions when Jihoon says fuck it and stops paying attention. “I saw you and her.”

Mingyu catches on without further prompting. “When?” he whispers, eyes trained ahead as if he’s actually apart of this class.

“A week after. On campus.” Jihoon stares up at the profile his face. “Was that when she said it?”

Mingyu needs a second to recall what Jihoon’s referencing. The professor has moved on to another students’ prodding questions when recognition unclenches his jaw. Now he’s looking at Jihoon. “After, I think. We talked at that coffee shop in student union, and then she asked me to at least walk her to her — her meeting, or something. I don’t remember what she had to do.”

That answers the perplexity of their stern expressions.

Jihoon isn’t strong twenty-four seven, though. Of course. It’s the weekend after midterms, and Jihoon’s proper tipsy, and Mingyu’s proper tipsy, and their friends are at the tail end of their overprotective phase. A dark party in some fourth year’s trashed two-story house, Minghao and Soonyoung upstairs with Hansol and Jeonghan and Eunjin with most of the other partiers, closest to the stereos in the living room. Mingyu and Jihoon are sitting at the coffee table, participating in a ‘dirty’ version of never have I ever. Which is another way of saying that they’re practically sitting on each other’s laps at the periphery of the busy table, deaf to their surroundings.

Jihoon’s got one hand holding a cup of straight rum while his other is encircling the wrist of Mingyu’s left hand, fingers miming as a new, hyperrealistic version of the gold bracelet he once wore. “I promise I still hate you,” Jihoon says against his ear to make sure it’s heard. Liquor once again loosens his tongue and his filter.

“Well, I love you,” Mingyu returns against his ear. Jihoon feels a shiver crawl down his spine at the feeling of his hot breath. “Loved you since first year.”

He instantly forgets to be mad. His short-term memory is at its worst with alcohol, no matter how little (and he’s only got one and a half drinks in him), so — “I loved you since high school,” Jihoon returns spitfire. “Actually.” He waits for the students near them to stop screaming as loud. “Since I met you.”

“What?” Mingyu shouts over another bout of shouts. Cupping a hand around the shell of his ear, he leans closer. “What did you say?”

Jihoon presses his mouth right against his temple when he repeats, bold and uncaring and loose, “Loved you since I met you.”

It Jihoon’s brain takes an embarrassingly long time to realize Mingyu’s lips are instantly against his.

* * *

Jihoon sits against the wall with his knees up to his chest and arms wrapped around them, watches Minghao sit at the stool in front of his easel. A half-drawn, half-painted canvas rests on it. The two men are in Minghao’s dining room — whatever’s left of it, anyway. Jihoon came over that Friday afternoon to help move the dining room table and chairs into the living room and scatter newspaper across the floorboards, setting up his ‘station’. After they finished the job, Minghao positioned his paintbrushes and tools where he wanted them, on a tiny plastic table next to the stool, and got to work. Soft, Chinese ballads play from his wireless speaker on the kitchen bar; Minghao hums along as he fills the canvas with color.

Jihoon is allegedly here to study in the comfort of another person — a person that’s the best out of his friends to keep him focused — but not everything goes according to plan. He’s very familiar with that by now. “Is that Soonyoung?” Jihoon asks. He can make out the sketch of a man, half the hair painted a bright yellow.

Minghao wordlessly retrieves his phone from his chest pocket and searches through it before handing it off to Jihoon. Jihoon takes the phone and looks at what’s on the screen. A picture of Soonyoung sitting on the bed of a room he doesn’t recognize, laughing so hard his eyes are almost completely eclipsed by his round cheeks. “Where is this from?”

“Second time he came with me to China,” Minghao says to his canvas. “He had to sleep in our bonus room since my mom didn’t want us sharing a bed.”

Jihoon laughs. “She knew?”

“I told her, yeah. She’s cool with it.” Minghao grins at him for a split second, returns to his canvas. “When I told her I was gay she said she was glad I could trust her.”

No surprise there. “Huh,” Jihoon says. His eyes roam over what he can see of the background. Lots of red and burgundy. “You know, I never asked how long you’ve been dating.”

Minghao giggles. Finally, he’s making careful strokes with his fine-tip brush. “That’s — it’s a funny story. Remember when I told you I met him, like, my first month here? In some gen ed Eco lecture?”

“Right.”

Another giggle, this one shier than the last. “We fucked _two days_ later, dude.”

Jihoon gasps. He sets Minghao’s phone on the newspaper. “Seriously? Two _days_?”

“Unfortunately,” Minghao laughs. “But I think we sorta? Technically? Started dating after that night.”

There’s a pause for Jihoon to do quick mental math. “Three years?” Holy shit. Yeah. Three years. Minghao matriculated the same semester they all did. “Dude. You don’t play around.”

“I just lucked out,” Minghao says. “No games here.”

Jihoon can’t imagine dating someone _two days_ after meeting them. He’s done one night stands once (or twice) in his life, yeah, but that’s where it started and ended: one night stands. Yet Dumb Rich Kid Xu Minghao met the person he grew to love in a foreign country mere _days_ post-entry. It’s such an abstract idea that Jihoon’s mind holds up a big ERROR sign; it took him _years_ to figure out and accept he liked The Man That’s (now) in Love with Him. Which has everything to do with his emotional immaturity — and immaturity in general. He can admit it.

“By the way.” Minghao lowers his paintbrush and twists on the stool to regard Jihoon. “How is everything? Going slow working out for you?”

He wonders briefly if he should confess that they’d kissed already, decides against it. Some things are best kept to himself. “I think.” He shifts around, drops one leg flat on the floor while the other stays bent, arm hanging off his knee. “I’m a little tired of being mad. Is that weird?”

Minghao gives a soft smile and shakes his head. “No. It’s not. Very natural.” He contemplates his next words with eyes on the ceiling. Then, “Do you feel like you can forgive him?”

The question of the day. Of the past month, too. Jihoon flickers through each conversation they’ve had, the hundreds of texts they’ve sent, the odd sense of normalcy they’ve returned to. Not much has changed from before Doomsday, but at the same time a shitload has changed. Because Jihoon no longer has process their conversations, their lingering gazes, the way they touch and kiss and laugh through the vantage point of best friends. And Minghao’s correct for the five millionth time:they can’t be friends anymore. It’s either up or down, no room for in between. Jihoon doesn’t want to be mad anymore.

“I think so.”

Minghao’s smiles grows. “He doesn’t make it easy, does he? Attached to your hip like a lovesick puppy.”

Jihoon’s cheeks burn and ears turn pink without his permission. And, adding insult to injury, his voice rises to a nervous squeak. “Shaddup.”

Minghao laughs, spurring Jihoon to do the same; his hands come up to (attempt to) rub the embarrassment off his face.

“Oh,” Minghao starts, an hour of easy silence later. Jihoon looks up from the computer on his lap. “Guess what my mom asked me over the phone on Monday?”

Jihoon doesn’t know Minghao’s mom well enough to solve that riddle. “Unsure. What did she ask?”

Minghao’s already fallen into a fit of giggles before he can get it out. “When — when I’m gonna — “ He stops talking to keep giggling, tries again after Jihoon begs, _spit it out Hao Jesus christ._ “When I’m gonna marry Soonyoung.”

No way.

“No way,” Jihoon gasps. “What did you say?” More importantly — do poly people marry? Jihoon wants to ask, but he’s afraid that’s offensive to poly people, or something. Or if it’s such a dumb question that Minghao will compare him to Jeonghan. (That’s the worst possible outcome.)

The giggles tamper until the Chinese ballads are the only noise in the apartment. Minghao shrugs one shoulder, lips pursed. “I said it’s not legal in South Korea or China, so I can’t. But I would, if I could.”

He hadn’t thought of that. Still — if Jihoon couldn’t process dating someone after two days, he definitely can’t imagine being _engaged_. Engaged. Minghao and Soonyoung fiancés? Holy shit.

“I see you thinking hard over there, but slow your roll. Nothing’s gonna happen ‘cause it can’t.”

“But hypothetically,” Jihoon says. “ _Hypothetically_ … you’d propose to him?”

He watches Minghao twist on the stool to face his uncompleted painting. “When I think about what I want my life to look like in twenty years,” he tells him. “I always imagine Soonyoung and I. Maybe we won’t live in China, maybe not in South Korea — but, yeah. Soonyoung always.”

Jihoon blurts, “Wow,” before he can think better of it. Because — _wow_. That’s serious. It almost feels like Minghao’s gearing up to buy that ring and get on one knee, if it were legal, and he wants Jihoon to know first; so it’s eliciting similar emotions: shock, elation, a dash of anxiety. “You and Soonyoung… Hansol and Somi… who does that leave? Jeonghan and Eunjin noona?”

Minghao giggles, turns his head to give Jihoon a grin that sets off his fight or flight. “You and Ming — “

“Don’t you dare say it. Minghao — _stop_ — don’t put that bad energy out in the air! Stop — ” Jihoon plugs his ears with two index fingers and goes _la-la-la-la_ , channeling his inner child, while Minghao shouts his cursed retort over and over and fucking over again. Minghao’s a stubborn fuck, though, and when Jihoon’s mouth grows tired and he gives up, Minghao manages to say it uninterrupted. “I hate you, dude,” he groans and flops on the wall behind him. Minghao is doubled over laughing.

Big mistake choosing to ‘study’ here.

* * *

Someone up above must be looking out for him, because November 22nd falls on a Friday — a Friday before a three-day weekend — and that means cutting class to sleep in because fuck school on Lee Jihoon’s Big Day. Also known as Lee Jihoon’s 24th birthday. The texts in the boys’ group chat are four hours old when he gets to them, because, taking a page from Hansol’s book, he remains bundled up under his covers until nearly 2 p.m.

white people call him vernon: _HBD Jihoonie!! this year’s been a crazy fuckin whirlwind but we’re getting through it together. you’re one of the toughest guys i know. love you_

Hǎo Minghao: _happy 24th birthday jihoon! i know youre not a fan of big parties or celebrations so i have an even better idea - chinese takeout, mini tekken tournament, marvel movie night??? lemme know :)_

Minggu: _one year closer to your mid-twenties. wow. youre getting old. jk jk. happy 24th. hao’s idea sounds like a good time, but can we add some liquor to the equation? lol_

Hǎo Minghao liked Minggu’s text message.

Soonyoung [blonde man emoji]: _THE BIG OL TWO FOUR!!! I LOVE YOU HOONIE YOU MAY BE A SMALL MAN BUT YOU HAVE A BIG PERSONALITY IN THERE._

Soonyoung [blonde man emoji]: _BUT YOURE NOT AS SMALL NOW THAT YOUVE BEEN LIFTING AND EATING. JIHOON IS ALL FIT AND INTIMIDATING NOW._

Jeonghanie: _is your caps lock broken? lmao_

Soonyoung [blonde man emoji]: _CAPS LOCK CAN’T BE BROKEN ON A PHONE YOU DUMB ASS_

Jeonghanie: _you can text on computers now, soonie….. where have you been in the past decade?_

Jeonghanie: _anyway. happy birthday jihoon. lemme know when and where we’re having takeout video game liquor movie night and im there._

He may or may not be biased, but Jihoon has, probably, the best friends in the world. Siting up in bed, his hair flying every which way, Jihoon reads the texts two more times before typing out a response.

Jihoon: _thanks!! :)_

Jihoon: _takeout video game liquor movie night sounds great lol. but just us - and don’t try to talk me into going out later lol._

Jihoon: _meet at mine at 8PM!_

Hǎo Minghao liked Jihoon’s text message.

Soonyoung [blonde man emoji] liked Jihoon’s text message.

Minggu heart reacted Jihoon’s text message.

white people call him vernon liked Jihoon’s text message.

His gift to himself is an afternoon of music composing. Might as well do something useful now that lectures aren’t in the way of his productivity. Those four months he spent wishing for a self-induced coma meant he’d taken a hiatus from working on his portfolio; Junghyun was the person to re-ignite that fire in him, and with her guidance Jihoon had picked back up where he left off. Post-heartbreak lyrics were very different from pre-heartbreak, of course, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t _good_. Just sadder. A lot sadder. The saddest shit he’s ever written — and he’s written plenty sad shit.

_Halfway between a dream and reality,_

_I felt you lie beside me._

_Even when you’re gone I see you there,_

_A spectre hidden in my sheets._

Every line Junghyun helped him complete were her thoughts translated into his. The same pain, the same desperation for normalcy. They’re too alike. That’s another reason there’s no way it could’ve worked out for them. But their likeness also means that they’re a fantastic team; Junghyun’s portfolio for graduate school is a few more songs and demos from completion, and Jihoon now has a broad range of genres to submit. Ballads, pop, pop-rock (thanks, Chan), and some guilty pleasures — EDM and R&B, mostly. A few of them have been brought to life on his computer’s free music program. Once he’s more comfortable with what he has, there are plans to rent out a studio with better equipment and enlist help from one of Hansol’s tech-savvy friends.

Jihoon can figure it out himself, yeah, but time is money and if there’s someone that can show him the ropes for free, he’ll take it. The companies he plans to send his work to don’t require professional, ready to air songs, but if Jihoon’s going to risk his self-esteem for the second time since high school, he’s going to do things right. As best as he can. Go above and beyond what’s expected and get his foot in the door, let them hear his voice overlayed with his creations.

Meeting Junghyun at his most vulnerable was a blessing in disguise; it was her that said it best. _What’s there to lose? The physics degree is happening at this point. If you get rejected again, then you get rejected again_. Right. He has to be able to deal with rejection. If not, he won’t last in the music industry, anyway. Jihoon has suffered enough rejection in the past year that his skin must be fortified with platinum. Or diamonds. Are diamonds tough? Whatever — something impenetrable.

Jihoon plays wordless music from his ‘Composing’ playlist and sits at his study disk with his notebook and his lucky pen. He’s made his best songs with it, the old, nearly empty thing. And today not much has changed; he writes ballads with a blend of despair and hope. The beginning is the mindset he was in when he first began to recover — nightmares that dwindle to nothing, possessed mattresses and stiff couches. Then, the evenings spent sipping wine and eating whole grain crackers, untangling the wires and cords in his brain with the friends that love him. And how he began to sweep up rubble after the passing of the hurricane, how he shifted from the desire to reset to the desire to move on.

While nice and a huge relief, it wasn’t the reciprocated love that erased the things that don’t matter. Jihoon’d nearly accomplished that already. Now he’s lying it all to rest, between the tip of his pen and the paper beneath it. The only place he can’t hide is in his music.

Jihoon doesn’t realize it’s reached 6 p.m. until his phone is ringing and _Minggu_ ’s contact picture is on the screen. It’s the polaroid Mingyu asked Hansol to take of them. They were at a Christmas party Soonyoung was invited to by a classmate (which meant that the boys were invited, too). Mingyu wanted it to be a picture of them ‘smizing’ at the camera, whatever that meant; _no, no you gotta, like smile with your eyes and not your mouth — See?_ he’d explained and demonstrated to a very confused Jihoon. But Jihoon isn’t a quitter, so he tried his best to follow Mingyu’s instructions and stood beside him (“Let’s take it in front of this white wall,” Mingyu also requested. “That way it looks like a model polaroid, ya know?” Jihoon did not know. He’s about seven fucking inches away from ever considering modeling.)

It turned out to be one of their best pictures with each other. Jihoon was wearing some black, white, and grey camouflage jacket that fashionista Jeonghan pressured him to buy when shopping for the party. Allegedly it was the perfect type of fancy for the dress code; if it were up to Jihoon, he would’ve attended in a Nike pullover and some jeans, but it wasn’t up to Jihoon. So he wore the ‘fancy’ camouflage jacket, and Mingyu wore a black turtleneck with black slacks and black loafers. Looking like a six foot greek god-model hybrid in all the ways under 5’5 Jihoon wasn’t. Isn’t.

Jihoon waits a few rings before he answers. Can’t seem overeager. He’s (at least pretending to be) holding on to some remnants of anger, despite how his heart melts with the warmth in his chest whilst admiring the contact picture. Mingyu doesn’t need to know that, though.

“Hey,” Jihoon says once the phone is to his ear. He stares absently at his notebook page littered in words and footnotes. “What’s up?”

It sounds like Mingyu’s in public; there’s distant background noise of people talking and crackles as he walks. Must be on campus. Being responsible, unlike Class-skipper Jihoon. “ _Hey_ ,” Mingyu says. “ _Question_.”

Jihoon pulls his knees up onto his office chair and turns slow circles in it. “Answer.”

Mingyu laughs briefly into the receiver. “ _Okay, um. Just wanted to ask to be sure, because. Like. Yeah. Uhh —_ “ Jihoon listens as Mingyu seems to shift the phone around, worrying his bottom lip to hold back a smile. “ _I can, like. You’re okay with me celebrating? With you? And everyone?_ ”

An endearingly odd thing to ask, considering Jihoon’s been spending time with him and their mutual friends ever since he returned with his endless apologies and promises to fix things. They made out at a party and drunkenly monologued about loving the other before they did, even. But, sure, alright. Jihoon will play along a little. “What, you’re planning to disappear on me again?”

“ _No_ ,” Mingyu immediately answers with a tilt of panic. “ _No, no, that’s — no, like, I just wanted to make sure… I don’t want you to, like. To think I’m overstepping boundaries?_ ”

Jihoon continues pivoting, using his free hand to push himself in circles with the desk as leverage. “I didn’t tell you you couldn’t.”

Mingyu huffs a laugh. The wind stops fucking up his ability to hear him clearly, must mean he’s no longer walking. “ _Well. I was giving you your chance to. If you didn’t wanna tell me I couldn’t come in the group chat_.”

Never even crossed his mind. There isn’t a reality in which Mingyu won’t be allowed to celebrate his birthday with him. “I wasn’t able to be with you on yours,” Jihoon says. “So here’s your chance to make it up to me. Don’t fuck this up.”

They both laugh this time. It tapers off, an awkward silence following. Jihoon wants to fill it.

“Um,” he starts. “I’ve been. I’m working on my music.”

“ _Yeah?_ ” Mingyu sounds excited. Damn Jihoon’s traitorous hypothalamus for releasing dopamine in response. “ _Good! That’s — good. You’re thinking of… are you going to apply?_ ”

Jihoon stops spinning once he’s facing his notebook again. “Next year. I wanna send it in a few months before graduation? So, like. There’s a buffer if it goes wrong. I ‘dunno.”

“ _It can’t. It won’t. I’ve seen your stuff; they can’t reject you this time_.”

“We’ll see.”

Another pause. Mingyu still hasn’t moved from wherever he’s standing. “ _Okay_ ,” he breathes into the receiver. “ _Oh. Also. Jihoon_?” 

The sudden change to a softer tone has Jihoon’s heart doing stupid things. This isn’t best friend Mingyu anymore. “Yeah?”

“ _Thank you. Happy birthday._ ”

It’s not much, but it does the job just fine: Jihoon’s going to combust into flames. The man that’s in love with him. The man that he loves. The man that he wants to forgive and loves. A bed behind him that’s been doused with metaphorical holy water and is freed from the spectre lying in the sheets.

The air has been sucked out of his lungs. “Thank you,” he breathes in return. “See you soon.”

“ _See you soon_.”

 _I love you_. Jihoon hangs up.

“You couldn’t have tried and at least put on _jeans_?” Jeonghan sneers at Jihoon’s black sweatpants and black ‘cool kids club’ tee shirt. He’s the last person to arrive, a gift bag and a bottle of red wine in hand. The others are gathered in the living room playing a fierce game of Tekken. Well, Hansol and Soonyoung are currently playing, and Minghao (on Soonyoung’s team) and Mingyu (on Hansol’s team) are waiting their turn, shouting in support for their partner.

Jihoon shrugs, pivots to let Jeonghan in. He closes the door and watches Jeonghan kick his sandals off in the foyer. “I’m at home and it’s my birthday. I’ll go naked if I wanna. Now stop whining and choose which team you want to be on.”

“What a cheap move!” Soonyoung shouts. “You’re full of cheap moves!”

“Get good,” Hansol retorts, laughing.

The apartment is dark save for the flashing lights from the TV screen. Mingyu baked a cookies and cream birthday cake, left it in the kitchen for when they’re ready; Soonyoung and Minghao arrived with lots of chips and cookies and a shitload of Chinese takeout; Hansol came with tequila, vodka, and mango-juice chasers; and everyone came with gifts. Which, Jihoon didn’t ask for presents and _never_ asks for presents, but the fuckers do it anyway.

Jeonghan deposits his gift bag with the others on the dining room table and meets Jihoon and the rest in the living room. “Something smells good,” Jeonghan says, eyeing the opened containers of white rice, chicken and broccoli, and beef lo mein. He sits down on the couch with Minghao and Mingyu. “Which team is Soonyoung on? I’ll join that one.”

“Why mine?” Soonyoung says to the screen. His mouth is hanging open in concentration. “Du — Hansol! How do you know all these long fucking combos?”

Hansol cackles, eyes also stuck to the screen. For once he’s not wearing a beanie, and his dark brown hair is a mess of waves. “Tiger King is a boss, dude. I played in a few Tekken tournaments as a teenager.”

“Seriously?” Mingyu asks. He makes room for Jihoon next to him, and Jihoon squeezes in; the couch isn’t long enough for four people to comfortably sit.

“Yeah. I was a huge nerd then.” Hansol’s character is wiping the floor with Soonyoung’s on screen. Soonyoung groans and smashes at the controller buttons helplessly.

Jeonghan grins a devious grin. “I’m definitely on Soonyoung’s team now.”

“Why?” Minghao asks this time.

“I’m awful at video games,” Jeonghan explains. He leans forward and helps himself to a portion of the chicken and broccoli. “Soonyoung is guaranteed to lose with me.”

Mingyu laughs and jostles Jeonghan with a shoulder-bump. “That’s sabotage, dude! I want to win with Hansol fair and square.”

“It’s never going to be fair since Hansol played professional,” Jihoon says with a shrug. “We were better off putting him on a team by himself. Or a team with only Jeonghan.”

 _Tiger King Wins!_ the game shouts. Hansol’s character growls and beats its chest. “Not professionally,” Hansol says. He turns around from where he’s seated on the floor and looks at Jihoon. “Tournaments aren’t professional. It’s just a bunch of losers competing for, like, one hundred bucks.”

Everyone stares blankly at him.

“Sorry. 120K won,” Hansol says. “The tournaments were in America.”

They nod and go, _ohh_ , at once.

“Compared to us, you played professionally,” Jihoon insists. “So next round it’s you and Jeonghan and then the rest of us on the other.”

Jeonghan had a bite of broccoli up to his mouth when he stops to whine. “No! I said I want to be with Soonie.”

“Not happening,” Minghao retorts with a giggle. It’s hit turn to shoulder-bump Jeonghan. “Sabotage is against the rules.”

“Says who?”

Jihoon raises his hand. “Says birthday boy.”

“Can’t believe you’re giving me a handicap,” Hansol grumbles. “I promise I’m not that good.”

Soonyoung, the loser, hands his controller off to Minghao. They switch spots, Soonyoung on the couch and Minghao on the floor next to Hansol. “Are we starting new teams now?”

“After he kicks Minghao’s ass,” Jihoon says.

Minghao giggles. He chooses Alisa and Hansol is using Tiger King again. “I love how you think he’s gonna kick my ass. I’m not bad when it comes to fighting games.”

“What _can’t_ you do?” Mingyu says with a mouthful of oatmeal raisin cookie.

Jihoon laughs. “Right?”

Spoiler alert: this is something Minghao can’t do. He’s undeniably better than Soonyoung, puts up a tougher fight, but in the end he succumbs to Hansol’s two-minute grappling combo. It’s further proof that Hansol needs to be on a separate team and given a handicap (Jeonghan, despite his self-admission of being shit at games, hates his new title); Hansol seems to understand this after his victory, and doesn’t complain anymore when teams shift.

They keep at it for the next hour. Jihoon is the second best out of the boys, Mingyu third (they’ve grown up playing together, after all). The only person to earn one (1) victory against Hansol is Jihoon, and his teammates chant his name while hugging him as his character, Hwoarang, does their victory speech on screen. And Jihoon enjoys his fifteen seconds of fame, but, like, he was one punch away from Hansol winning, so it doesn’t feel like much of a success.

“So poetic,” Jeonghan sighs dreamily. “The tyrant Hansol succumbs only to the Korean character. I love it. Praise South Korea.”

Minghao stops celebrating to grimace at him. “Don’t be a nationalist; you’re ruining the mood.”

“Yeah,” Hansol sets his controller on the crowded coffee table, makes space next to the stack of paper plates and napkins. “As if I’m not Korean?”

“The character,” Jeonghan deadpans. “I’m referring to the characters you played with.”

There’s a short intermission for them to use the bathroom or create drinks. “No rum,” Mingyu tells Jihoon. “But try this.” He pours vodka and Coke into a plastic cup and hands it off to Jihoon. “If you don’t like it I’ll drink it.”

Albeit there’s plenty room for Mingyu to free Jihoon from being pressed against the arm of the couch, as Jeonghan is peeing and Minghao is in the kitchen grabbing water with Soonyoung, neither readjust. Jihoon tosses his legs over Mingyu’s lap and Mingyu has a palm on one of Jihoon’s knees, watching him taste test the drink. He smacks his lips a couple of times, eyebrows furrowed. “Mm,” Jihoon hums. “Not bad. I can manage.”

Then everyone reconvenes in the living room and makes themselves comfortable with blankets Jihoon retrieves from his bedroom closet. Hansol is starting Black Panther up, and Jihoon’s _just_ getting settled into his corner of the couch with Mingyu again when his phone buzzes in his sweatpants pocket. He pauses where he is in front of Mingyu, and Mingyu looks on as Jihoon produces his phone from its spot.

 _Mom_ , the screen says.

“My mom,” Jihoon mumbles. He’s not sure anyone hears him with how loud the TV is, so he raises his voice to say, “My parents are calling. Keep going, I’ll be right back.” He pads away and into his bedroom, gently nudges the door closed behind him. He taps on the green button and brings his phone to his ear. “Mom?”

“ _Jihoonie_ ,” his mom greets on the line. “ _I’m sorry I couldn’t call you earlier. It’s getting late_.”

Jihoon quickly moves his phone back to check the time. Thirty minutes past nine. “Not that late,” he says. “Dad home from work?”

“ _Taking a shower_ ,” his mom says.

“Okay.”

“ _Happy birthday,_ ” she says.

Jihoon smiles. “Thanks, mom.”

“ _Any birthday plans?_ ”

He goes to sit on the edge of his bed. “Yeah, actually,” he tells her. “My friends are over. We’re playing games and watching movies. Nothing crazy.”

His mom laughs softly. “ _You’ve always liked it quiet. That’s great, Jihoonie._ ” A short pause. “ _I can’t believe you’re already twenty four. Time flies._ ”

“Me either. I’m a third year now. Feels like I was just a first year and moving into my apartment.”

The muted sounds of the movie increases in volume; Jihoon looks up to see Mingyu sliding in and closing the door behind himself. “Your mom?” he asks. Jihoon nods.

“ _I know. I miss having you around. It’s sad when your kids become adults. You’ll understand when you have some of your own_.” She laughs at herself. “ _Sometimes I wish I had two children, so one would stay here a little longer_.”

Jihoon watches Mingyu tip-toe over and sit a tiny distance from Jihoon on the bed. “Mom, c’mon,” he whines. “Don’t go all sentimental on me. Where’s the woman that didn’t care whether I was out with friends or in my room?”

“ _That’s different,_ ” his mom tries. “ _When you were out I knew where to find you._ ”

“With Mingyu?” Jihoon says to Mingyu.

“ _Exactly. With Mingyu._ ”

Mingyu extends a hand, wiggling his fingers. “Lemme talk to her?” he whispers.

“Speaking of,” Jihoon says. “Mingyu is here.”

His mom giggles. “ _I’m not surprised_.” She’d be surprised if she knew they’ve reunited after several months of not speaking to one another. But, of obvious reasons, that’s not something Jihoon’s going to disclose now — or ever. He’ll save his mother the dramatics.

“He wants to talk to you.”

“ _And I’d love to speak to my precious boy_.”

Jihoon rolls his eyes, grumbles, “You don’t call _me_ your precious boy,” before handing the phone off to Mingyu.

Mingyu presses the phone to his ear, grin spreading across his face. His sharp canines are bared when he greets, “Hi, mom. I miss you… Yeah. Yes, I — “ He looks at Jihoon, eyes not quite focused as he listens to her speak. “I know. I’m sorry. I’ll drag him with me next time — winter break.” He pauses to listen again. Then, laughing, he says, “No, everything’s great… Thank you.” Mingyu mouths out, _she wished me a late happy birthday_. Jihoon smiles and snorts a laugh out through his nose. “I’m — hah, I’m afraid not. We fight sometimes. Usually my fault.” Jihoon can hear the faint flutter of her voice, and then Mingyu’s laughing, harder than before. “Love you for thinking so highly of me, mom, but — no, yeah. Yeah.”

Jihoon gets comfortable on his bed once he’s accepted that his mom isn’t going to let Mingyu get off the phone anytime soon. He pulls his legs up on the bed, crosses them at the ankles and links his arms around his shins. The night feels surreal, almost; like an alternate dimension where, instead of the rest of his friends being out in the living room ‘studying’, they’re watching a movie. And instead of Jihoon going into Minghao’s room to retrieve his lab report, he’s in his own room answering a call. And Mingyu is in here not to pee and argue and eventually kiss him, but to chat with his psuedo-mom. And there’s no Minghao that’s going to prance in and catch them in the act of something reprehensible; if he does decide to come in, it’s fine. The lines Jihoon had to draw in the sand to protect his sanity and Mingyu’s relationship no long exist. This is how it should’ve been all along.

What feels like an hour (see: fifteen minutes) of conversation passes until Mingyu relinquishes the phone to Jihoon. “Let me let him talk to you,” Mingyu says before handing it off. “He’s the birthday boy.” Jihoon smiles a soft thanks before pressing the phone to his own ear.

“ _Your father says happy birthday_ ,” she says. “ _And come home soon_.”

Jihoon giggles. He can see Mingyu watching him, pretends he doesn’t. “He couldn’t have said that himself?”

She’s also giggling. “ _You know your father. Not good with sappy emotions. Like you_.”

True, but Jihoon’s working on it. He meets Mingyu’s stare. He’s gotta, if he doesn’t want the things that don’t matter to restock and drive him insane. Breaking the cycle, and all that. “Okay,” he says. “I should get going. Thanks for the call.”

“ _It’s nice to hear your voice_ ,” she says. “ _Come home over winter break, okay? And bring Mingyu. I miss his handsome face_.”

“Stop,” Jihoon whines. He thinks back to when they were in Jeonghan’s Hyundai and Mingyu blurted that she wants to fuck him, his stomach threatening to reject the alcohol and Chinese takeout. “Don’t act like every girl on campus, please. It’s weird.”

Mingyu must catch on to what they’re talking about, because he laughs quietly, eyes scrunching up and full mouth of teeth out.

“ _I have eyes, and so do they. But, okay. Goodnight. Love you_.”

Jihoon sighs. “Love you, too. Bye.”

The line goes dead. Jihoon groans and stuffs his phone in its rightful place in his sweatpants. “How can you be so thirsty for a man you’ve known since they were a kid?” he says. “Disgusting.”

Mingyu grins at him. “She’s not the only one that’s thirsty for a man they’ve known since they were a kid.”

It takes Jihoon’s room temperature IQ mind a few seconds to understand the implication. Once he does, he whines, “Stop,” in a drawn-out syllable, his cheeks betraying him with how they heat up. “It’s so weird hearing you say that.”

“Why?”

Jihoon shrugs. “I ‘dunno. Like.” He picks at a loose string on the waistband of his sweatpants. “You never — you never say stuff like that. Not to me.”

“I can’t say that to you? Even if it’s true?”

“But it’s not.”

Mingyu’s palm comes to press right above Jihoon’s thigh, so warm it burns. Jihoon doesn’t want to look, doesn’t want to because he can already foresee what’ll happen if he does, and yet — yet Mingyu’s palm is beckoning attention, and Jihoon wants to give it to him. He gives it to him.

The lighting in Jihoon’s bedroom should be unflattering. The fan lamp splays its light straight down from above, casting awkward shadows on their faces because there’s no other light source to counteract it. But, _surprise_ — Mingyu circumvents the curse, is still sharp jaw and almond eyes and dark, waved hair that settles above manicured brows. He hasn’t seen Mingyu directly in so long, and it’s as if his brain has forgotten that this is what he is after being wiped clean. It’s remembering not in gentle waves, but a harsh crash on a shore, slapping Jihoon awake and telling him, t _his is who’s vying for your forgiveness. This was once lanky, gangly-armed, boyish Mingyu who’s now blossomed into six foot, sharp-jawed, broad-shouldered Mingyu_.

Yes. They’re a few weeks into post-parking lot, so Jihoon’s had every single day since their chat when Mingyu was cooking Forgive Me Lunch to ogle. A few weeks that Jihoon spent refusing to stare too hard into Mingyu’s face, because it’s dangerous when he gets trapped there and therefore remembering to be angry becomes exponentially more difficult. Fuck handsome guys for being handsome. Fuck fuckboys that can get away with everything and anything once they bare the puppy dog eyes and pouty bottom lip. Jihoon doesn’t want to be another person that cowers with a bat of an eyelash.

Though, this isn’t some random fuckboy Jihoon met in his first year. It’s difficult to stay mad not at Handsome Fuckboy Mingyu, but Childhood Friend Mingyu. A Mingyu that’s been trying and repenting and relentless in his giving of attention and being careful not to step on toes. On respecting Jihoon’s desires to return to normalcy not in a sharp crash on a shore, but in those gentle waves. He’s trying. So Jihoon should try, too.

“I ruined your trust in me,” Mingyu is whispering. “So I know it’s hard to believe me anymore. I want to make it better.”

A corner of Jihoon’s mouth quirks up. “How many times have I heard that now? Five? Six? Fifteen?”

Mingyu remains undeterred. “I’ll say it as many times I need to.” His palm presses harder onto Jihoon’s thigh. It takes a concentrated amount of effort to maintain his composed disposition. “Thank you for inviting me. And for letting me talk to your mom. I appreciate it.”

Jihoon needs to escape this sappiness, and fast. Not the time nor place for this. (More proof he’s his father’s son, comes Jihoon’s bittersweet thought). He shrugs one shoulder up and says, “My mom would kill me if I didn’t let you talk to h — “

“I told Chaeyeon.”

Jihoon’s mouth is parted on an interrupted sentence. “What?” What does Chaeyeon have to do with his mom?

Mingyu exhales audibly, eyelashes fluttering. “The first step to earning trust back is to… you know. Be truthful.” He removes his hand from Jihoon’s leg and squirms on the bed. “I told Chaeyeon it was you. That I — that I loved, and. And that I fucked up and ruined two relationships, because I’m a selfish fuckhead. I told her.”

Whiplash must not be too dissimilar from this. Jihoon’s reeling, a flood of questions pouring and filling up between his ears. With so many to pick from, the only question Jihoon can manage to get his mouth to say is, “When?”

“Before the charity,” Mingyu says. “I told myself that… I told myself that I couldn’t talk to you again until I told her. Trying to do the mature thing, I guess.” He furrows his eyebrows at Jihoon. “Unless you didn’t want her to know. Then it isn’t the mature thing and once again I’m a fu — “

Jihoon raises a palm. “No. That’s. It’s fine.” Mingyu continues to give him the same, uncertain expression. “You…” He is still trying to process this. He’s been throttled from one topic to the next in under a second, making it difficult to recalibrate. So. He told Chaeyeon. He told Chaeyeon before his confrontation and carried that for several weeks without telling Jihoon.

Not that he’s _mad_ that he wasn’t told. In fact, he’s sorta — pleasantly surprised? That could’ve been a great weapon while Jihoon ripped into him (physically and mentally). That’s. Big. Big for someone that was so afraid of his same sex attraction that he panicked at a texted love confession.

“Wow,” Jihoon says aloud. “Is this my birthday gift?” That successfully wipes the worry from Mingyu’s face, has him laughing and shaking his head. “That’s serious, dude. Coming out to her like that.”

Mingyu falters. Blinks. “Coming out,” he parrots. “I didn’t think about that.” He titters. “Well. Yeah.”

Jihoon watches him do some processing of his own.

“I like this.” This catches Mingyu’s attention again. “Us being open. We were best friends but never had any tough conversations. Like, how we felt.”

“That’s true.” Mingyu nods, a slight bob. “I like this, too. It’s freeing.”

Freeing. That’s exactly what it is.

Free to do this. Jihoon reaches a hand out and places it on top of Mingyu’s. Mingyu doesn’t stir, eyes intently boring into Jihoon’s, who’s staring right back. 

Jihoon shifts closer, close until they’re sitting mere centimeters apart. His gaze flitters down to Mingyu’s lips. Free to do this, too.

He removes his hand from Mingyu’s and reattaches it to Mingyu’s cheek, fingertips asking permission before his palm presses into his cheekbone. Mingyu doesn’t stir. Free to do this.

And this — leaning closer, cupping his jaw, watching his mouth as it leans in, too. Mingyu follows, and Jihoon leads.

When their mouths meet, there’s a pause. A jolt. The television is blearing outside the bedroom — Jihoon has seen the movie so many times he can tell they’re on the second action sequence — but inside everything’s quiet. Unmoving. Mingyu waits, waits for Jihoon to decide how he wants to do this because Mingyu’s given him the reigns and Jihoon’s free to do this. Any of it.

“Jihoon,” Mingyu mumbles against Jihoon, more breath than rasp.

Jihoon answers him with a kiss.

He’s licking into Mingyu’s mouth, hand on his cheekbone sliding up into those soft, dark brown waves. Mingyu is pliant, malleable under his touch, parting his lips to let Jihoon in and holding Jihoon with one palm at his waist. They drift closer, bodies twisting, feet tangling, and Mingyu’s slouching to lessen the awkward distance, how Jihoon has to make an effort to reach him.

It’s unlike the last one, at that party exchanging drunk love confessions. For one, Jihoon is going to remember this, every little bit of it, to the silence in juxtaposition to the subdued shouts and laughter, to how Mingyu whispers his name in a way he’s never heard it said before. Soft, whiny, a desperate, wanton inflection. The realization that, no, Jihoon wasn’t the only one lovesick and febrile with unmet desires; Mingyu wants him. Wanted him all along. While Jihoon was so sure Mingyu knew about him, perhaps Mingyu felt the same. Two idiots hiding in plain sight.

They separate because they have no other choice, pant gently while looking into one another’s eyes. Then Jihoon’s tugging him in again by the back of his head, and Jihoon’s tilting his for a better angle, and Mingyu’s holding him on his waist with both hands instead of one, and — and Jihoon wants to catch up. Make up for lost time.

Some questions are best left unanswered. Another fact Jihoon’s been trying to translate through his actions. Mingyu told Chaeyeon before he found Jihoon. That’s the beginning and the end. More information may hurt, may anger, may do neither or both — who knows. But Jihoon’s not going to be led by his impulses anymore; he’s going to continue to forgive gradually and heal and let his music cover the rest.

As his mind begins to match the quiet of his bedroom, giving way so that he can live in this moment, the bedroom door cracks open but no one comes inside. Jihoon tries to keep kissing for just a little bit longer — he’s free to do this, god damn it — as Mingyu pulls away and addresses the disturbance.

“Hey,” Minghao’s voice shouts. “I hope you guys aren’t fucking in here! Don’t let us watch this entire movie without the birthday boy and his boyfriend.”

Jihoon bristles, ears burning. He doesn’t want to give Minghao what he clearly wants by profusely denying that Mingyu’s his boyfriend, so he swallows the urge down and replaces it with a, “We’re coming, sorry.” Mingyu gives Jihoon’s waist a final squeeze, earning a yelp and a shove, before he gets up and starts towards the door.

“Jihoon’s seen Black Panther a million times already,” Mingyu tells the bits of ink-black hair sticking out behind the door. “Let’s go ahead and cut the cake and give gifts and stuff?” He turns to Jihoon, eyes asking permission.

He’s not wrong. Jihoon does love him some Blank Panther, but there’s only so many times you can watch a movie without hearing every line in your sleep. (He’s dreamt of certain scenes, not the entire thing, okay?)

“Yeah, let’s eat cake and open gifts,” Jihoon says, standing up. “I’m sure if Jeonghan isn’t bored out of his mind he’s asleep out there, and I’ve forced Hansol and Soonyoung watch it in theatres, like, four times.”

Minghao’s entire head peeks in now. “Don’t forget you made me watch it two of those times,” he deadpans. “Until I went on strike.”

“You’re a movie snob,” Mingyu laughs. He tugs the door fully open and Minghao straightens up from where’s he crouched over on the other side of the threshold. “I, on the other hand, have no standards and watched it _five_ times with Jihoon.”

Jihoon walks over to kick at Mingyu’s ankles. “Hey,” he grumbles with a frown. “That sounds like an indirect diss to Black Panther. Watch yourself.”

Minghao giggles. He pivots so an apologetic Mingyu and Jihoon can leave the room. “You watched it five times with him, because you guys are… you guys.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mingyu smirks.

Jihoon ushers Mingyu back over to the living room with two hands on his back. “Don’t ask him that. He’s going to say something annoying and piss me off.”

Minghao giggles harder while following them.

Jeonghan, surprisingly, ins’t asleep, but he’s on his way there under Jihoon’s Spiderman blankets. Hansol is on his phone and Soonyoung is watching the TV while shoving chocolate chunk cookies into his mouth. He’s almost done with the 10-count container.

“Change of plans,” Jihoon announces. He grabs the remote from the coffee table and pauses the movie. The three men in the living room turn their attention to him. “It’s cake time.”

“And gifts,” Mingyu interjects. “The best part of every birthday.”

Jeonghan snickers tiredly. “Maybe to you, the most materialistic guy here.”

“Says the dude with designer clothes he can barely afford,” Mingyu retorts.

“I can afford them just fine, thank you — “

“Please stop,” Minghao tries. “Shut up and come watch Jihoon blow out his candles and cut the cake.”

Soonyoung grimaces while rubbing his stomach. “I ate too many sweets,” he whines. “Can’t do it.”

Hansol finishes typing a text and puts his phone in his pocket. “Whose fault is that?”

Five frustrating minutes later, Jihoon finally manages to round up his friends and have them stand at the dining room table. Mingyu and Soonyoung light the candles with Soonyoung’s lighter, and Mingyu dramatically carries it over to the table while everyone decides they want to embarrass Jihoon on his special day by singing happy birthday. Then Soonyoung wants everyone to harmonize, and to escape the nightmare of standing awkwardly while everyone sings to him, Jihoon jumps in and finds a key to carry. Minghao ends the song with a playful rift, one that they have to whistle and clap to because it was good without trying to be.

“Okay,” Soonyoung cheers. “Make a wish, make a wish!”

Jihoon stares down at the burning ’24’ candles, the cookies and cream cake that Mingyu slaved over either yesterday or today, and thinks it over. What does he wish for… well, if you asked him about half a year ago, his answer would have been very different than it is now. He would’ve dreamt for something stupid, insignificant, _redundant_. The Lee Jihoon of today has abandoned a lot of his crutches, has wandered further out of his comfort zone. Without compartmentalizing, disembodying, personifying, filing easily avoidable situations as a part of Lee Jihoon’s Highlight Reel, or labeling things as Don’t Matters and Do Matters, what he has left are tangible goals. A clearer, more sane headspace.

He wishes for stability. If he can’t have the career of his dreams, he just wants to have a career he doesn’t hate. And he wants to keep in touch with his friends after graduation, no matter where they end up or how far they go. He wants them to be stable and happy, too. And. And, whether it’s Busan or Seoul or neither, Jihoon wants Mingyu to always be a short car ride away. Maybe even a short walk away — from one room to another.

Jihoon bundles up his wishes into one, small package, closes his eyes, and blows out the candles. His friends are clapping and whooping before he can re-open them.

“You were thinking hard over there,” Hansol says from across the table. “Must’ve been a serious wish.”

He smiles and shrugs shyly in return.

Then Jihoon cuts the cake, distributes slices to each paper plate minus Soonyoung’s, who’s still whining like a kid and being consoled by Minghao. Jeonghan tells him to stop babying Soonyoung, and he and Minghao bicker until they’re interrupted by Mingyu declaring it’s gift opening time.

“Me first, me first,” Soonyoung shoots a hand in the air. Jihoon’s not sure if he’s expecting him to call on him or something, but he doesn’t get the chance to figure it out before Soonyoung’s leaping for his newspaper-wrapped present and shoving it into Jihoon’s hands. “I can’t wrap and didn’t have wrapping paper,” he hurriedly explains. “But don’t judge a book by its cover. Open, open!”

Jihoon gives it an experimental shake while his friends watch. Nothing rattles. It’s not very heavy, either. He rips the newspaper off carelessly and arrives to a shoe box that’s poorly taped. “You weren’t lying,” he laughs. “You suck at this.”

Soonyoung pouts. “Keep that up and I’ll take the gift back.”

He pries the box open and comes face to face with a red, Supreme tracksuit. Those aren’t cheap. “Wow,” Jihoon says. “This is. Thank you.”

“So gaudy,” Jeonghan tuts. “Free advertisement, too.”

Hansol cackles. “At least pretend to be happy, dude.”

“Just saying. My gift is better,” Jeonghan retorts, crossing his arms.

Soonyoung shoots him a glare as Jihoon lifts the clothes out of the shoebox and examines it. “The point isn’t for you to like it,” he grumbles. “It’s for Jihoon. And I know Jihoon likes one, Supreme and two, loungewear. So. Supreme loungewear.”

Mingyu leans over Jihoon’s shoulder to examine it with him. “That’s his style alright. Good choice, Soonie.”

“A choice that wasn’t made alone,” Minghao gets in.

Whoever’s choice it was, Jihoon’s thankful for it. He praises the tracksuit once more before Hansol hands over his gift next. This one is about the same size as Soonyoung’s, except it’s wrapped neatly in blue wrapping paper. “This is also up your alley,” Hansol explains while Jihoon’s tears the paper and opens it.

Baby blue Vans with white laces. The other boys _ooh_ and _aah_ , and Jihoon thanks Hansol profusely, tries them on, and then thanks him again before kicking them back off.

Next is Jeonghan. His is a gift bag, so no opening required; Jihoon tugs the decorative sheets out and finds a watch box at the bottom. “You don’t wear much jewelry,” Jeonghan is explaining. “Aside from earrings here and there. But I know you like watches, so. There you go. It’s not gaudy; it’s very low-key. Like you.”

Jihoon opens the box to find that it is, indeed, lowkey. A small-faced, black watch white leather straps. “Dude,” Jihoon says. “Thank you!” He lets Mingyu help him put it on, and he admires it. The hands and numbers are silver.

Jeonghan beams. “See? Looks great. I have a good eye.”

Soonyoung rolls his eyes so hard his pupils disappear.

Jihoon keeps the watch on, takes the gift that Mingyu hands to him. It’s a gift slightly larger and taller than a shoebox, wrapped up in red wrapping paper. “You may or may not freak,” Mingyu tells him. “It took me awhile to figure out what to get you. You’re not easy to shop for.”

“Yeah?” Jihoon starts ripping it open. “I thought my cake was the gift.”

“No way I’d only give you a _cake_ ,” Mingyu says incredulously.

“It’s a hand-cooked cake,” Jihoon insists. “That’s a good gift as any.”

Regardless, Jihoon gets to a cardboard box. And inside of the cardboard box are two things: the fist two volumes of Inuyasha in Japanese, and a brown leather photo album. He almost can’t believe his eyes, rubs at and blinks them for good measure. But, nope, it’s there, the original Inuyasha manga shipped from Japan. “Holy shit,” Jihoon gasps. “This is. Dude.”

“Maybe too high level,” Mingyu says. “But you can practice your Japanese with them. See how much you can understand without translations. And this,” he points to the album. “Are the original polaroids of, like, our time in university up to today. Check it out.”

“ _Okay_ ,” Soonyoung groans. “Mingyu has an unfair advantage. Ya know, being a friend from high school…”

Jeonghan and Minghao hum their agreement; Hansol doesn’t emote outside of a huff of a laugh at what Soonyoung said.

“No, no,” Jihoon says. He forces himself to abandon the Inuyasha manga set to open the photo album. “Everyone’s gifts have been great. Really.” True to word, each glossy page is neatly filled with polaroids — from the day they matriculated and stood in Mingyu’s half-decorated apartment to the end of second year, when they went to some guy’s party and got hammered. Jihoon flips through, watches their faces grow more mature and inhibitions lower semester by semester. The gift you’d expect from a photography major slash part-time weeaboo.

Minghao raises a hand and lowers it. “Um, you haven’t opened mine yet, so don’t say it’s great until you do.”

Jihoon smiles an acknowledgment at Minghao, then tilts his head back to smile at Mingyu next. “Thanks, dude,” he says. “I love them. This is cool.”

Mingyu beams. A hand coming to the small of Jihoon’s back, he scratches there with gentle fingertips. “No problem. Happy translating.” Jihoon sways into the touch in his best efforts to not get caught.

Unfortunately, Jeonghan is staring right at where Mingyu’s hand disappeared behind Jihoon’s torso and frowns. “If you two become Minghao and Soonyoung 2.0 I’m go — “

“Last but not least,” Jihoon raises his voice to say, blinking at Minghao. Hansol is doubled over laughing. “Xu Minghao.”

Minghao’s gift is a thin gold necklace. “It’s never a bad time to start wearing some type of jewelry,” he insists when Jeonghan opens his mouth to criticize. “It compliments your skin tone nicely.”

Mingyu helps Jihoon put it on. Jihoon examines himself in the camera of his phone, says, “Thanks, Hao. Subtle but pretty.”

“Like you,” Minghao beams.

The boys help Jihoon dispose of the trash, and they return to the dining room table to sit and eat their cake. As expected, Mingyu’s cooking is fucking delicious, melts in your mouth and everything, and Mingyu soaks up the compliments like a plant given water.

Jihoon’s on his final bite (he’s a fast eater when food tastes like heaven) and is feeling, honestly… sentimental. Sentimental, and so thankful, and his chest is warm as he watches Soonyoung feed Minghao and giggle, Hansol and Jeonghan chat about their girlfriends, and Mingyu jump into their conversation with a myriad of questions concerning Eunjin. ‘Cause — god. His friends love him so much, despite his mistakes, despite his lies and secrets. They were angry, of course, but they were the perfect balance of anger and tough love. And, more than anything else, they were patient. So fucking patient they’re probably buddhists in disguise, or something — especially Minghao. Honorable mention goes to Minghao. Soonyoung is a very close second.

Mingyu is a different story. But Mingyu has always been a different story.

At ten minutes to midnight, his friends begin to pack up and head out. “Thanks, guys,” Jihoon is telling them, meandering by the foyer while he watches them tug their shoes on. “For everything. The gifts, the takeout-video game-liquor-movie night, and sticking around. Y’know. Through the past half a year.”

“Bad mistakes don’t make bad people,” Hansol says. Turns out the beanie isn’t the secret to his madness. “We’ve been friends for too long for me to not stick around and hear you out.”

Jeonghan slides his feet into his sandals. “I hope you’d stick around if the roles were reversed,” he says. “But. The only thing I won’t forgive you on is not telling me about — “ He shifts his eyes between Mingyu and Jihoon. “Whatever you two are.”

“Boyfriends,” Minghao says with a smirk that Jihoon wants nothing more than to slap off.

“Are you serious?” Jeonghan whips his head around to widen his eyes at Minghao, then turns to Jihoon. “You and Mi — “

“No,” Mingyu interjects before Jihoon can muster up a response with his voice and not his fists. “We aren’t. Not that I don’t want to be. I do. Just — I need to, like. Repent for my sins.”

The boys nod solemnly. Jihoon is busy trying not to jump out of his skin at Mingyu’s declaration. He wants to be his boyfriend. His. Kim Mingyu wants to _go steady_. Not like that’s news, considering the fact that Mingyu fucking confessed to being ‘in’ before the ‘love’ with him. Regardless, it’s disorienting to hear aloud, much like when Jihoon said Mingyu’s name for the first time since his ghosting.

“Right,” Jeonghan mutters. “Well. I’m glad you’re back, Mingyu.” He regards Mingyu, then back to Jihoon. “And I’m glad you’re doing a lot better. I was real worried about you for a minute there. But you’re a fighter. Hope everything works out for you. Both of you.”

That’s. The sappiest Jeonghan’s been in eons. Jihoon’s birthday is another dimension. In a few more minutes maybe they’ll revert to their old selves. Until then — “Thanks, Hanie,” he says. “Me, too.”

“See you tomorrow? Or Sunday?” Soonyoung asks. “We can get brunch, or we can hang out at our place.”

“Or both?” Minghao suggests with a shrug.

Jihoon gives them a smile and a thumbs up. “I’m always down for whatever. Text me.”

“Can Eunjin come?” Jeonghan asks. “To brunch, at least? I was kinda gonna go over there, and I don’t wanna lea — “

“The more the merrier,” Mingyu cheers. “That way I can properly meet her. I’m so fucking curious about the woman that stole your heart.”

Jeonghan narrows his eyes at him, wagging a finger. “Don’t do anything to scare her off. I’m going to pretend you’re the weirdo that we keep around because of guilt if you so much as blink at her wrong.”

Mingyu raises both palms in surrender. “I won’t, dude! You’re so distrusting for a supposed friend.”

“This friend group can be strange sometimes,” Jeonghan says. “Just wanna be sure. Anyways. See you guys tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow,” Jihoon returns. He tolerates the hug Soonyoung drags him in for a maximum of five seconds before prying his arms off. Soonyoung whines.

Thankfully, Minghao, Hansol, and Jeonghan don’t bother trying and wave their goodbyes. “Until tomorrow,” Hansol salutes him on the way out.

“Until tomorrow.” Jihoon stops waving and closes the door once they’ve disappeared around the corner.

Then there’s two. Jihoon isn’t blind to the fact that Mingyu hadn’t even bothered to play the game and put his shoes on. He waited diligently behind Jihoon, ignored Minghao’s raised eyebrow and knowing glint the entire encounter. Jihoon turns around to face him.

“I’ll go,” Mingyu says. “If you want me to.”

“Your gift,” Jihoon starts. “Thanks. I really like it. Both of them.”

Mingyu’s worried expression softens into relief. “Yeah? I’m glad.”

“Bring back a lot of memories.”

Mingyu half-smiles. “Happy ones?”

“Yeah.” Jihoon shifts his weight to one foot, then the other.

“Good. I wanna make more.”

“More?”

“Happy memories,” Mingyu says. “I’ve given you a lot of bad ones.”

Honest Mingyu is simultaneously refreshing and overwhelming. Jihoon is having to orient himself, remember that this is where they are in their relationship now. Being open. Honest. It’s fucking terrifying — kinda fucking thrilling, too. There’s nowhere to hide, in the best and worst of ways.

“How are you gonna make more happy memories?” Jihoon asks him. “Tell me.”

Mingyu’s assessing him, eyes flickering between Jihoon’s, to his mouth, back up into his eyes. “Whatever you want me to do. Whatever I can do.” 

That shouldn’t be doing things to him, but it is. A lot of things.

“Then,” Jihoon starts. Stops. “Let’s shower and go to bed.”

Mingyu obviously doesn’t expect that answer. He stares like a deer in headlights, falters where he stands as Jihoon steps around him and into his bedroom.

Jihoon’s pretty damn proud of himself at how nonchalant he’s been able to behave despite the harsh pounding behind his ribcage. He masks his trembling hands with busy work — grabbing his night clothes, depositing them on the bathroom counter, prepping for his shower — while Mingyu approaches the bedroom as if dodging landmines. A very slow, very careful amble up to the threshold.

“Uh,” Mingyu starts. Jihoon doesn’t have to see him to hear the nerves in his voice.

“I’ll be fast,” Jihoon maintains his best casual tone. “Your pajamas are still in the closet. Bottom corner by the basket.” And then he shuts the bathroom door behind him, desperate for some privacy to pace and perform breathing exercises. This can… go a lot of ways. Mingyu can leave while he’s washing up, of course. Which is the least likely scenario, in Jihoon’s opinion. But it’s always a possibility, so he’ll keep that on the differential.

Another, higher possibility is that Mingyu remains. And if he asks where he’s sleeping, what does Jihoon say? What if he _doesn’t_ ask and just crawls under the covers with him? A large part of Jihoon wants Mingyu to choose that option and not force Jihoon to say the words ‘sleep with me’ less he combusts into flames and burns the entire apartment down. But this is, like, a new Mingyu. Kim Mingyu that’s terrified of scaring Jihoon off, as if Jihoon’s a stray cat and one wrong move will send him scurrying into the woods. (Mingyu will have to _really_ fuck up again to ruin what they’re rebuilding, another thing Jihoon won’t confess so that Mingyu can panic a little bit longer.)

So Mingyu’s going to ask. No doubt about it. Which means Jihoon has to gather the courage to say the dreaded words without stuttering or earning five years in prison for arson. Jihoon is the absolute worst at this. 

He showers for twenty minutes, the latter half spent standing under the stream of hot water and stressing the fuck out. Once he’s brushing his teeth with his white sleep shirt and shorts on, hair blotted dry with his towel, Jihoon feels a little better. Looser.

This is fine. Everything is fine. It shouldn’t be so complicated; this is the man he’s known for more than half a decade. And they both know they’re ‘in’ before the ‘love’. They can share a bed like they’ve done hundreds of times before and in the morning it’ll be as if nothing has changed. They can move on. Together.

Right. Jihoon dries his mouth once he’s finished brushing his teeth, and without thinking twice about it, swings the door open and steps out. What he finds is Mingyu in the pajamas, sitting on the edge of the bed, his own dark hair damp from a shower. He jerks his head up from looking at his phone, face tinted pink with heat. “Hey,” he says. “Uh. I showered in the other. Bathroom.”

Jihoon has faltered by the door. “Oh. Okay.”

“I’m gonna… I’m gonna brush my teeth now.” Mingyu abandons his phone on the bed — the side of the bed he usually sleeps on when they share, Jihoon can’t help but notice — and squeezes past Jihoon and into the bathroom.

That must mean he won’t ask. Crisis averted?

Jihoon dumbly tosses his dirty clothes in his hamper and goes to the bed.

He’s lying under the sheets, on _his_ side closest to the wall, when Mingyu’s finished with his routine and re-enters the bedroom. Jihoon is scrolling through his reactivated Instagram, trying his damndest to not look over to where Mingyu’s standing awkwardly.

He feels it coming before Mingyu even opens his mouth. “Uh,” Mingyu tries. “Can I? Do you — ?”

“Turn off the light and come to bed, Mingyu.”

Mingyu does as he’s told without second thought.

Then it’s dark, save for Jihoon’s phone screen. And they share the white sheets, lying in the bed that was the beginning of the end for them. Again, Mingyu’s citrus and sandalwood is overridden by Jihoon’s shampoo, Jihoon’s soap, Jihoon’s toothpaste, Jihoon’s laundry detergent. Mingyu and Jihoon’s. God. He had no idea how much he missed this, nor the painful memories it would drag to the surface. Jihoon reminisces of the kiss before the goodbye, one that symbolized a promise that they’d be back together soon. It’s all come full circle.

Mingyu is also lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling while Jihoon mindlessly scrolls. Déjà vu in the worst of ways.

“You know how you asked me,” Mingyu starts, deep voice cutting through the silence and the white noise of the fan spinning overhead. “If I wasn’t lying? When I said I loved you?”

Jihoon’s thumb stops scrolling.

Mingyu huffs a laugh through his nose, a wry one. “I wanted to ask you the same thing. In the parking lot. I was like — “ He shifts under the sheets, cold feet knocking into Jihoon’s. “Jihoon knows me. He’s known me since I was a dumb ass teenager, and it’s not like my personality got any better.” He turns the wry smile to Jihoon’s profile. “I’ve told you so many things that aren’t flattering, or — or are straight-up shitty. How can you. I was like, how can he say he’s in love with me when he’s heard _thousands_ of stories from me about messing around with girls. And stuff.”

Jihoon’s phone screen shuts off from inactivity. He continues to stare at it, thumb hovering.

“It’s easier to pretend,” Mingyu continues. “With people that don’t know who you were, or are. The bridge already felt burnt with you.”

Now Jihoon lolls his head on the pillow to look at Mingyu. There’s enough light from the moon and street lamp to splay in through the blinds and illuminate the room. “I thought you knew this entire time.”

“Knew?”

“This entire time. I thought you knew how I felt, and. Pretended you didn’t. To spare my feelings.”

Mingyu responds with a laugh, but not unkindly. One of incredulity and relief. “Jihoonie. What? You gave me _zero_ signs you were ever into me.”

 _No. I don’t believe that he can read your mind. I don’t believe that through telepathy he somehow knows you love him. Like in love. That’s a huge fucking deal, Jihoon_. Why the fuck is Minghao right all the time? Jihoon needs to filter every single thought and idea through him before drawing any conclusions from now on.

“Oh,” Mingyu says. “I mean Jihoon. Sorry.”

Jihoon, still ruminating over the confirmed death of the Lee Jihoon Mindreader that never Was, mutters, “It’s fine. Jihoonie’s fine.”

A pause follows. There’s the distant sound of car wheels rolling over gravel, headlights passing over the window.

“Incredible,” Mingyu breathes. “Honestly? I have no idea what you love about me.”

Yeah, incredible. Incredible they’re on the same wavelength, have been for years and kept it to themselves.

It’s Jihoon’s turn to laugh with incredulity. “Don’t know what you love about me, either.”

“We’re even, then.”

Another bout of soft laughter.

Jihoon reaches over Mingyu to place his phone face down on the nightstand, next to Mingyu’s. When he returns to lying down, he rolls onto his side. Mingyu remains on his back, head turned towards Jihoon, watching silently as Jihoon gets comfortable. They consider one another with awkward smiles.

“So.” Mingyu has his cheek pressed to the pillow beneath him, damp fringe cascading across his forehead. Barefaced Mingyu isn’t much different from any other version of him. “Can I, like. Can I kiss you?”

Funny how this is the first time he’s been asked explicit permission. Jihoon’s visceral reaction is to laugh. And he does. He laughs and laughs, Mingyu blinking curiously at him, and continues to laugh even as he nods and shifts closer to Mingyu’s side. He laughs, because it’s so fucking funny that Mingyu of all people is asking him for a kiss, because he never imagined even two weeks ago that he’d be back in his room, in his bed, with Mingyu beside him, asking permission for a fucking kiss. And because he’s so — happy. Happy, and warm, and pleased after a day of composing, of spending time with his friends, of being able to smile into Mingyu’s face and know he’s not going to jerk awake from a dream or a nightmare.

He even laughs into the kiss. Mingyu’s kissing him, only mouth to mouth, and Jihoon’s pressing into it, lifting up and over Mingyu’s pliant body. Mingyu shares a few, curious laughs of his own, and Jihoon’s watching as his eyes flutter closed, as a big palm comes up to cup Jihoon’s face. So handsome. Handsome and willing and _his_. He can have this. He’s free to do this.

Jihoon breaks away and returns. Breaks away and returns. Lengthens the time their mouths are together after a few cycles, unable to close his eyes when Mingyu has a soft smile on his face, expression relaxed and amused. After what could be the sixth or seventh kiss, Mingyu holds Jihoon there by the nape of his neck; Jihoon holds himself upright, hovering over Mingyu, with his elbows bracketing Mingyu in.

True to routine, it doesn’t take long for their kissing to turn impatient. Mingyu curls his fingers around Jihoon’s throat, and Jihoon’s licking into Mingyu’s mouth, humming a pleased little noise. And he doesn’t want this to end. Not the kissing, not the night. If he can really, truly have it, he wants every bit of it. Everything he can take and then some. Everything Mingyu’s willing to give — and that may be everything, too.

Jihoon tosses a leg over next, straddling Mingyu’s hips. He falls, chest to chest, when Mingyu pulls him down by the small of his back, those arms Jihoon’d missed so much wrapping around his waist and keeping him there. “Hoonie,” Mingyu whispers against his mouth. “Your — “ They both gasp as Jihoon rolls his hips against Mingyu’s, freezes. “ _Jihoon_.” It’s a silent warning, Jihoon registers, an implied _hey this is dangerous and I don’t want to do anything that’ll scare you away_.

But Jihoon’s not scared. Not anymore. Mingyu watches Jihoon watch him with half-lidded eyes as Jihoon whispers back, “I’m fine. Want this. Want you.” Then he rolls his hips again, doesn’t stop when they gasp and moan into another desperate kiss, wet with mostly tongue. The friction is pleasurable initially, each feeding off of one another as they harden in their sleep shorts; Mingyu starts to grind up while Jihoon pivots down, grip tightening to hold Jihoon where he wants him, at the perfect angle that has Jihoon losing focus on the kiss to whimper and squirm instead.

Mingyu removes himself from the kiss and reattaches his mouth at Jihoon’s throat, a hand sliding up to hold Jihoon’s hair and pull his head back, forcing Jihoon to bare his neck for easier access. “Oh, shit,” Jihoon gasps, eyes fluttering, then gasps again when Mingyu doesn’t stop grinding their clothed cocks together. “Oh, shit — Gyu,” he promptly loses the ability to speak coherently.

There’s nothing but disjointed breaths for awhile, Jihoon’s brain short circuiting with Mingyu sucking kisses against the sensitive skin of his throat, the rhythmic roll of their bodies. Not like he can vocalize it at the moment, but Jihoon wants, needs, more. Needs Mingyu to undress so he can admire the tan glow of muscle, the striations carving abs into his stomach; needs to undress, too, and feel warm skin to warm skin, grind not against the soft fabric of his shorts but against the long, thick line of Mingyu’s cock. Fuck — Jihoon tries his damndest to speak, to beg, but every time he does Mingyu does something with his tongue or his hips that makes him forget his thoughts, his own name.

And then Jihoon’s being deposited onto his back, and the warmth is gone. Gasping for air, he lets out a soft whine, only to be hushed when Mingyu hooks his thumbs under Jihoon’s shorts and tugs them down. “Lift up,” Mingyu’s saying somewhere to his left, and who is Jihoon to disobey; he rises up just enough for Mingyu to free his dick, cold air shooting a shiver up his spine. He opens his eyes in time to catch Mingyu tugging his white tee off, then complies as Mingyu tries to remove Jihoon’s.

“There,” Mingyu mumbles. “I want.“ He considers Jihoon’s pink-flushed face. “I wanna su — “

“Do it,” Jihoon blurts. “Anything, don’t ask, do it. Don’t wanna play twenty questions right now, Mingyu, just do — “

Mingyu moves the fastest Jihoon’s seen him move. Remembering exactly where Jihoon has his stash, he tugs the nightstand drawer out and produces the half-empty bottle of lube, leaves it by Jihoon’s hip, then crawls down and over until he’s between Jihoon’s bare, spread legs. Jihoon tilts his head down and watches with bated breath, burning hot where Mingyu’s palms are sliding up the insides of his thighs, tugging them a little further apart, eyes intently on Jihoon’s hard, leaking cock. “Fuck,” Mingyu says, sounding far away, then his mouth is on him.

Jihoon remembers the last time being incredible, but he’s forgotten just how warm and hot Mingyu feels around his cock. How Mingyu looks with his eyelashes fanned out, wet lips wrapped around the red-flushed head, tongue pressed flat underneath his length. And, oh god, does Jihoon remember now, pinned down against the mattress so he can’t fuck up and gag Mingyu, can only whimper and let Mingyu bob his head up and down and up and down further and further each time. 

Another out of body experience, is what it is. Jihoon’s fighting to not enter a new dimension, instead closes his eyes tightly and listens to the obscene, wet sound of his cockhead hitting the back of Mingyu’s throat. He grabs two fistfuls of hair to anchor himself but not impede Mingyu’s rhythm, chin tipping back, groaning loudly. “Fuck, fuck,” he’s babbling. “How are you — Mingyu, Jesus christ. So — “ He breaks off into a whimper when Mingyu sinks impossibly low, relaxing his throat take Jihoon in to the hilt. “ — _Fuck_ , fuh — “

Mingyu holds for two, three, five, ten seconds before pulling off and gasping wetly for air. And, yes, Jihoon nearly comes untouched at the sight of how sloppy Mingyu’s red lips look, saliva smeared on his chin, corners of his mouth, philtrum. Half of him is already in said new dimension.

Eyes wet, nose tip red, Mingyu pauses to grab the bottle of lube and snap it open. He squeezes some on the tip of his index and middle finger, then blinks up at Jihoon, eyelashes clumped with his tears. “You said to not ask,” Mingyu breathes. “But I need to k — ““Yes.”

Mingyu stares. “Yes?”

“Yes,” Jihoon repeats. “C’mon.”

Mingyu leans forward and sucks Jihoon’s cockhead back into his mouth, tongues the slit and makes Jihoon whine and squirm. It’s good. So fucking good. The warmth in his lower abdomen is spreading out to his limbs, up into his chest. And when Mingyu licks down to his balls, rolling each over his tongue and humming low, Jihoon is dragged closer and closer to the edge. Gonna come embarrassingly fast and have to suffer the teasing once he does.

That’s what he’s thinking when a wet finger probes between his cheeks, presses against Jihoon’s hole. He flinches, breath hitching. Mingyu pops off from his balls with a vulgar noise, meets his stare to say, “Only fingers. Wanna finger you. Can I?”

“Yeah,” Jihoon breathes. “Yeah.”

Jihoon’s fingered himself approximately… one time. One time that was very brief, more like a curiosity quencher more than anything else. And Mingyu’s fingers aren’t much longer than his, but they are thicker; so despite the lube to ease the way, it’s a slightly painful burn as Jihoon opens up around his index finger — a slight pain that’s promptly hidden under pleasure with Mingyu giving kittenish licks to the sensitive spot beneath the crown of Jihoon’s cock.

He focuses his attention on Mingyu’s deft tongue — teeth clamping down on his bottom lip and hand carding through Mingyu’s hair — to withstand the unfamiliar intrusion. He doesn’t realize Mingyu’s finger made it all the way in until it’s fucking in and out of him in careful little thrusts. Simultaneously, Mingyu sinks his mouth further down the length of him, letting Jihoon rut up and chase his pleasure. “Oh, shit,” Jihoon bites out when Mingyu’s finger hooks right as his hips fall. It’s a confusing shock that ripples through him and makes the muscle in his stomach jump. Then Mingyu’s maintaining the pressure there, _right there_ , and Jihoon’s twitching, gasping, writhing. “Fuck, Mingyu, wai — I’m gonna come, gonna come — ”

Mingyu continues to bob his head and fuck into Jihoon as if he hadn’t said anything, now moaning around him and giving in to Jihoon’s desperate thrusts, takes him into his throat again. It’s not until he pulls his finger halfway out, only to press a second one in beside it and hook them both into Jihoon’s prostate that Jihoon comes undone; releasing a high, prolonged whimper, Jihoon tightens two fists in Mingyu’s hair, tight enough to make Mingyu groan his pain around Jihoon’s twitching cock, and paints Mingyu’s tongue with several spurts of his come. “Oh my fuckin — “ Jihoon starts, then stops, mouth hanging open and brows furrowed.

And. He may or may not have seen God on his way back to Earth, doesn’t register Mingyu removing his mouth and fingers as he gulps in air and huffs it out. He’s broken out in full body sweat in the sudden heat in the room, shoves his hair off of his forehead and pries his eyes open.

Mingyu kicks his own shorts off, and only then does Jihoon realize Mingyu hadn’t been touched at all; his dick is hard, precome beading at the slit, and Mingyu flops next to Jihoon and starts fisting himself hurriedly. “Jihoonie, shit,” he moans, voice dropping several octaves in his arousal. Jihoon, fighting his post-orgasm slump, shoots forward and catches Mingyu in a kiss, roams a palm across his pecs and his abdomen.

He can taste his own come. Fuck — he can taste his own come because Mingyu _swallowed it_. Mingyu swallowed his come, is moaning his name into the heated kiss while fucking up into his own fist, muscles taut beneath Jihoon’s explorative touch. And — “Love you,” Mingyu whimpers against Jihoon’s mouth. “I love you, Jihoo — Jihoonie, _fuck_.”

He comes quickly and messily, uses it as slip to carry him through his orgasm; Jihoon, mumbling words of encouragement, leans back to watch, watch Mingyu’s wet, slack lips, sweat-damp cheekbones, eyelashes flutter in his waves of pleasure. “Love you, too,” he whispers. “Love you, Minggu.”

Loves him. Mingyu loves him. God, it burns in the best possible way. Jihoon slumps onto Mingyu’s chest, rubbing soothing fingers along the lines of his abs, his head jostling with Mingyu’s heavy breathing. A few tears slip from the corner of his eyes without permission, followed by a few more when Mingyu rubs his own soothing thumb against his upper back, between his shoulder blades.

This is. Unreal. Good things aren’t supposed to happen to Lee Jihoon. He isn’t supposed to get what he wants in the end; he’s supposed to wish and hope and nothing more. Leave his fantasies where they belong, inside of his head. Drive himself crazy with innocuous details and ignore the things that matter. Things like this. A man that he loves and loves him in turn.

Jihoon wants to enjoy this for a little longer. He wants the world to stop for a couple of hours so he can enjoy the warmth of skin to skin, listen to Mingyu’s heart thrum in his chest, to his heavy exhales gentle to tiny little puffs. The morning is dangerous, brought painful days (months) the last time they wrapped around one another in this very same bed.

Unfortunately, the universe always has another plan for him, and his post-orgasm comfort lulls him to sleep.

* * *

* * *

The morning brings a messy-haired, sleepy Mingyu. A messy-haired, sleepy Mingyu that turns his head from his phone to blink at Jihoon when he notices him coming to. “Hey,” his sleep-hoarse voice says, a lazy smile spreading. “Morning.”

Jihoon has to take several seconds to orient himself to time and place. “Hi.” He rubs at his eyes and drinks in what surrounds him: the bright light of the sun and fan lamp, the loose articles of clothing scattered haphazardly on the bed, their naked bodies made decent by the covers. Mingyu placing his phone face-down on his blanketed stomach to regard him.

A morning so unlike their last. No goodbye kiss in a cross between sleep and consciousness, and no purgatory to follow. Jihoon knows where he stands. Where they stand.

“Day one of being 24,” Mingyu says. “How does it feel?”

Jihoon wets his dry lips with his tongue. “Technically day two. But, uh. Weird.”

“Weird almost being in your mid twenties?”

“Weird waking up to you.” Jihoon looks at him. “But not in a bad way.”

Mingyu laughs as best he can on a couple of hours of sleep. “I hope not. Otherwise I won’t get to do this again.”

“This?”

“Wake up with you.”

Oh. Is it possible to be any happier than he already is? What’s the maximum amount of happiness one can achieve? Jihoon wants to find out.

“You can,” Jihoon says. “As much as you want.”

Mingyu’s smile gives way to those canines, one made boyishly handsome with his mussed hair and sleepy, almond-shaped eyes. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Jihoon rolls to his side, tucks a hand under his cheek and smiles back.

They quiet to admire one another in awe. Mingyu practically glowing with a halo of light, Jihoon with his ink-black hair on a backdrop of pale skin.

“Then,” Mingyu returns in a soft tone. “Is this good memory number one of infinity?”

A laugh. Jihoon shakes his head no. “Not yet.”

“Not yet?”

Both of their phones buzz at once, but neither react nor move to check it.

Jihoon — in opposition to the racing of his heart, the anxiety-fueled adrenaline, his old self telling him not to do it, not to be vulnerable and risk ruin — shakes his head again, voice breaking when he answers, “You said something yesterday. To Jeonghan.”

Mingyu’s smile weakens in thought. There’s another silence.

“Ah,” Mingyu says on an exhale. “That’ll make this our first good memory?”

Jihoon falters for only a moment before he nods. Can’t talk without air.

And then Mingyu’s shoving his buzzing phone off of his stomach to roll on his side and face Jihoon as Jihoon faces him. “Okay,” Mingyu says, low as if to keep anyone else from eavesdropping. “Jihoonie. I love you.”

Jihoon swallows around the growing lump in his throat. Mingyu’s turning into a blur of colors. “Yeah?”

“At brunch,” he says. “I want to introduce myself to Eunjin noona as your boyfriend. Can I?”

Mingyu’s officially a blur of colors. “Will it be true?”

“I want it to be.”

This is it. This matters. No longer having to hide, to run, to tell himself that it doesn’t.

No more secrets.

“Me too,” Jihoon says.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow. well. it's done. eye. and to think i nearly scrapped this entire series because i thought to myself, "only like, 0.5% of the fandom is going to enjoy reading my self-gratifying voyeurism fic." i fuckin' love mingyu/chaeyeon *and* jigyu, so..... why not combine them? 
> 
> and then suddenly this shit turned into a monster. a nearly 100K fic including the first part of the series.... that i actually finished. me @ me: who are you? 
> 
> huge thanks to those that left kudos and commented and encouraged me to keep going! i would've ended this at 'the things that don't matter' if not for you guys reading and indulging my sick fantasies. 
> 
> here's to more jigyu in the future. jigyu world domination. jigyu best ship. make jigyu popular. jigyuists rise up. etc etc etc 
> 
> anyways, 
> 
> my [curious cat](https://curiouscat.me/Woozywooziwoosy) if you wanna scream at me or talk lmao


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